


Mask and Cover

by Seagreen27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Homophobia, Homophobic attack (past), Internalized Homophobia, LARPing, M/M, Masks, Mentions of Violence, Therapy, anger management issues, commedia dell'arte, court appearance, drama therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seagreen27/pseuds/Seagreen27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of us have ways in which we mask and cover our pain.</p><p>Dean absolutely does not have anger issues following the death of his dad. Except that after a bar brawl Dean can’t even remember, Sam had to get his ass out of jail for the third time in six months. The only way Sam managed it was by getting the judge to agree that therapy was better than jail time or community service.</p><p>But the normal therapist is away, so Dean is forced to go to Charlie Bradbury’s Drama Therapy group. So here he is, doing stupid trust exercises, prancing about in masks, going LARPing and other things Sam would never let him live down if he knew. Dean is also very straight, so he is absolutely not harboring a secret gay crush on the very cute guy in a trench coat whose blue eyes look even more amazing when peering out at him from behind a mask. And just to add a cherry on top of the rainbow cake, Dean has been cast as a lover in the commedia dell'arte performance Charlie is directing. Castiel has been cast as the trickster, and they seem to keep ‘accidentally’ exchanging longing glances more commonly seen in Shakespeare.</p><p>Who knows what will happen next, but whatever it is, it’s sure to be dramatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge fic
> 
> Thanks so much to my artist, [Mothsinsuits](http://mothsinsuits.tumblr.com/), for her amazing art work. 
> 
> This is my first time doing this type of writing challenge. I hope you enjoy the story.
> 
> EDIT: it was bought to my attention that a whole chapter was missing!! I have added this in now, apologies if a couple of things didn't make sense before that!  
>  

Dean woke up with a pounding head and water dripping onto his face. He rolled over to try and get out of the path of the leak without opening his eyes, not currently in a state to care about where it was coming from. He rolled into fresh air and ended up landing with a huff onto a solid concrete floor, the bed seemingly more narrow than his usual king size. Pain lashed through his elbow, acting as a counterpoint to the pain throbbing in his head. That was enough to get his attention. 

Dean cracked his eyes open begrudgingly, relieved to find that it was not that bright. All he could see was the concrete floor, and a pair of shiny leather shoes. He followed the shoes up a pair of suited legs that seemed to go on for miles, up further to a black tie, and finally up to a familiar face currently wearing the bitchiest of all bitch faces.

Dean shut his eyes again. "Go away, Sammy. I'm having the mother of all hangovers."

"You don't have to tell me that, Dean. I've been dealing with the aftermath." Dean rolled away rather than listen to Sam's rant. He tried to slowly open his eyes again and saw a blue uncovered mattress on a concrete base. He sat up slowly, cradling either side of his head in case his brains fell out of his ears. He looked around him, moving as gingerly as possible. Concrete walls. A window half way up with bars across.

"Oh no, not again." Dean mumbled, resting his head on his knees.

"Yes, again, Dean. Do you remember anything of last night?" Sam's tone was pissed. Dean couldn't really blame him - this was the third time in six months he had needed to come and drag his ass out of jail.

"No?" Dean said, although it came out more as a groan.

"You've been arrested for assault. You decided to beat the shit out of some guy. From what I can get out of Jo, the other guy started it, but you definitely finished it. Given that you didn't have a mark on you and the other guy looked like shit, you were the one that got arrested."

Dean was remembering the evening in flashes. He was sitting on a bar stool nursing his seventh whiskey (maybe eighth? He had lost count). He wasn't in Ellen's - she had cut him off. He had stumbled out of the Roadhouse with promises of going home. 

Dean decided he did not want to face his empty house, so he had tried to seem sober as he walked into MacPhersons down the road. There had been a couple of stag parties in, so one man swaying on a stool had not seemed that bad in comparison. He had sent a flirty smile in the direction of the bar maid, placed a fifty on the counter, and told her to keep topping him up. It would seem she had kept her end of the bargain. Dean could not remember anything passed his second refill.

"Dean!" Sam nudged him with his foot. "Are you even listening to me? We've got to get you cleaned up, we've got court in an hour."

Dean looked at him, mouth gaping as his stomach sank even further into the floor. "Those bastards charged me?"

"Dean, you gave a man two black eyes and a bloody nose. You're lucky you didn't break anything, otherwise you would be looking at jail time. And this is your third arrest. As it is, I think you're going to be looking at community service."

"Nah, I'll be fine. Judge Mills likes me; I bet she lets me off." Sam shook his head in despair.

***

It was not Dean's lucky day. They stood as the judge was announced, and it wasn't Judge Jody Mills who came out from the judge’s chambers. Dean felt Sam's shoulders sink a little.

"Who's that?" Dean muttered under his breath.

"Judge Victor Hendrickson. He's just moved to Maine, but he has a real reputation for being a hard-ass." Sam breathed, as quietly as possible. "You just sit down and shut up, you hear? I'll handle this." Dean wanted to argue, but the judge banged his gavel, and Dean sat down hard in his seat.

"Silence in the court." Judge Hendrickson demanded, even though there was no noise beyond Sam's whispers.

"Dean Winchester." Hendrickson sneered, packing as much disdain into the name as he could muster. "I see here that you had an interesting evening last night. If I had my way, we would throw thugs like you in jail and throw away the key just to keep you from cluttering up the streets." Sam's shoulders stiffened.

"Judge, if I may..." Sam said.

"No, you may not." Hendrickson quickly interrupted. "Fortunately for you, the laws are clear in terms of sentencing in cases like this, and people keep telling me that the jails are too full as it is. So, you have the option of community service, or anger management therapy. Choose wisely, Mr. Winchester. And in the meantime, I'll wait for you to slip up, and hurt someone again, or probably worse. Then I'll look forward to putting you away for a long time." Anger seethed through Dean, and he wanted nothing more than to stand up and put this so called judge in his place, preferably by punching his nose into his brain. Sam placed a hand on his shoulder that was probably supposed to be calming but felt restraining and condescending instead.

"Your honor, my client will choose therapy." Dean nodded until what his brother actually said trickled into his addled brain and registered.

"Wait, what? The hell I will!" Dean shouted, jumping up. The judge looked at him coolly. "That's right, Mr. Winchester. Make a scene, and then I can throw you in prison for contempt." Sam clamped a hand over Dean's mouth, as Hendrickson grinned at him evilly.

"I would like to have a private word with my client, judge." Sam grabbed onto Dean's arm, hard, and dragged him out of the courtroom before the judge even had a chance to agree.

"What the hell, Sam? Why would you say therapy? Anything's better than sitting down with some shrink to talk about my crappy feelings."

"Dean, you heard the judge, he's looking for any reason to lock you up. So, you go for community service and you'll have to miss work to do it and lose the money. Then you will have to play nice with other people while you pick up litter or some shit. If you turn up late, or don't turn up at all, then the judge will haul you back in here and you'll end up doing time.” Sam grabbed both shoulders and shook Dean gently.

“I don't want that. You still have to turn up to therapy, but you can sit in an office with someone for an hour and not say anything if you really want. And you can arrange the appointments around work." Dean folded his arms, and considered the options begrudgingly. He could not afford to take time off from the garage, and he really did not play well with others. Dean’s shoulders slumped.

"Ok, Sammy. I guess you're right." They walked back into the courtroom, Sam trying to walk calmly with Dean stomping belligerently by his side. Dean knew he looked like a sulky teenager, but could not find it in himself to really care.

"Your Honor, my bro... Err, client, has agreed to undertake therapy."

"Is that correct, Dean?" The Judge said with contempt. Dean was unable to speak, worried that if he opened his mouth a stream of abuse would come out of it, so he settled for nodding stiffly instead.

The judge nodded with a sneering smile on his face. "Then I charge you, Dean Winchester, to undertake six months of weekly anger management therapy. And if I hear that you've decided to stop going before your six months is up, then you will be back in front of me again. Is that clear?" Dean nodded again.

"I said, is that clear Dean."

"Yes" Dean muttered from between his teeth.

"Yes, what?" Dean gritted his teeth as he stared disbelievingly at the man sat above him.

"Yes, sir" he finally spat out. He grasped his hands into fists so tight that he could feel his fingernails making angry crescents in his palms.

After they walked out of the courtroom, Sam went to give him a hug, but Dean pushed him away. Sam looked at him with puppy eyes until Dean let out a tight breath and threw an arm up around his shoulders.

"Thanks for getting me out of jail Sasquatch."

"It's fine, Dean. Just please don't do it again. If you're arrested for a fourth time, you will end up in jail so fast even I won’t be able to get you out. Now, we've just got to go and do some paperwork and set up your sessions, and then we can get out of here." Dean's spirits lifted a little at the thought of coffee and food. Definitely bacon. Dean decided. Sam dragged him to a small desk with a blonde girl sat behind it. Her face lit up when she saw Sam, as if he was Santa Claus at Christmas or something.

"Sam Winchester" she breathed, adoration clear in her voice. Dean looked at his brother, bemused.

"Becky." Sam acknowledged, flushing red and looking very uncomfortable. Dean resolved to make teasing Sam mercilessly third on his list behind coffee and bacon.

"My brother here needs to be booked in for court ordered anger management therapy." Becky squealed with excitement and jumped up from behind her desk and bounded over to throw her arms around Dean's neck. Dean looked at Sam, completely bewildered. Sam just shrugged at him, still red.

"I've always wanted to meet Sam's big brother! I've heard so much about you!" She said, in a high pitched voice that was like fingernails on a blackboard to Dean’s headache.

"Err, hi,” Dean said, pushing Becky away gently. “It's nice to meet y'all, but we really have to be going. Things to do, bacon to eat. You know how it is." Becky dropped her arms reluctantly, and returned to her seat.

"So what is it you need?" She said.

"Wow, apparently I'm not the only one who needs therapy," Dean muttered under his breath.

"Dean's been ordered to take anger management therapy." Sam ignored his quip and plowed on.

"Ok." Dean expected more of a comment from Becky but she didn't say anything. "Our usual therapist, Pamela Barnes is taking a sabbatical at the moment, but her replacement is very good. She specializes in drama therapy, rather than talking therapy."

"Drama therapy? Prancing about like a dick? No thanks." Sam was directing another bitch face at him, and Dean almost sniggered. That was what, like five directed at him this morning already? They might be heading for a new record.

"I'm sorry about my brother. He's very hung over, although that's not really an excuse." Sam glared at Dean. "When's the first session?"

"It's every Wednesday at 8pm." Apparently Becky's sunny disposition didn't allow her to be phased by a surly convict, as she grinned up at Sam as if he had wings and a halo. "How does that sound?"

"Fan-freaking-tastic." Dean muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel walked into the school hall and greeted the red haired woman who was setting up with a hug and a warm smile. Cas had been going to Charlie's drama therapy sessions for two years now. He had become a recluse with severe anxiety after the death of his estranged father, and she had helped him to manage his grief and become part of the world again. He now owned a bookshop and had been on a tour to promote his own novel, which Charlie had even come with him on. They were firm friends, whilst still managing to traverse the boundary of therapist and client.

"Help me with these chairs, will you? The others will be here soon." Charlie said as she let go and punched him lightly in the arm. Cas grabbed a chair and helped her set up a large circle.

"We've got a couple of newbs starting tonight, so I might get you to help me out if that's ok."

"Choice or sentenced?" Cas said, tone neutral. People who chose to attend Charlie's classes were usually fine, but those who were forced to come by the courts were often disruptive and disrespectful.

"One of each." Cas groaned quietly. He did not mind helping out, but he still struggled with confidence. He could feel his breathing quicken and a tightness started to seep into the edges of his chest. He thought about the last few people who had not joined the class out of choice, but because they thought it was the easy option. They had been loud, and brash, and had often made snide remarks when they thought Charlie couldn't hear. He sat down on one of the chairs and tried to slow his breathing down. Charlie massaged the back of his neck with careful hands.

"It's ok, Cas. Breathe in for me, one, two, three, four, five. And out again, one, two, three, four, five." She repeated this three more times. Cas let her counting wash over him as his eyes drifted closed, letting his body follow her instructions as he tried to push all thoughts out of his mind. His breathing calmed, and he let his eyes drift open again.

"Ok?" Charlie said. Cas just nodded. "Sorry, Cas. I won't involve you if it will make you uncomfortable."

"I shouldn't feel like this though, Charlie. It's been two years..."

"It takes as long as it takes, Cas, you know that. I know you're frustrated that Anna isn't returning to this course, after you started together, but we all have our own quest." Anna was the other friend that he had made in his first round of courses, but she had felt at the end of the last set that she had gained everything she could, and did not need to return for another six months. He had been jealous to a level that surprised even him.

Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. "Everyone's journey is different, and it will take as long as it takes. Sometimes you're Bilbo, and your quest is fairly quick, and sometimes you're Frodo, and your quest takes three books and 350,000 words to complete."

Cas shook his head at her references as he always did. As a child he was only allowed religious or educational texts, and even as an adult, he owned a Christian bookstore and wrote historical fiction about the crusades. He had tried to read other genres, but always got an overwhelming feeling of guilt, as if his mother were about to appear, snatch the book and throw it into the fire as she had when he was six and reading a Hardy Boys book. The fact that his mother had been dead for fifteen years, and he did not even have a fireplace in his apartment, did not make any difference. It was something he and Charlie had talked about and would work on in the future.

Cas started when someone sat next to him with a huff, knocking into his side. Whilst Cas had been lost in his thoughts, the room had steadily filled, until there were only two seats left - one on either side of him. Charlie had been standing behind one, leaning on the back of the seat, leaving only one left. The man who had slumped down into the seat beside him now had his arms folded and a surly expression on his face. His highly attractive face, Cas noticed, and he felt sure that it would be even more attractive if he was smiling. Those lips looked like they would smile easily. Cas smiled to himself, feeling slightly proud. Two years ago, admiring thoughts about another man would have come with a rush of guilt and suppression. It was the first thing he had worked on with Charlie, who had been very understanding considering she too was gay. Now, his thoughts felt natural, normal and part of himself. It made him very happy.

Green eyes met his, and there was a sudden twist to the other man’s mouth. Cas realized that he had been staring longer than was socially acceptable. He quickly dropped his eyes, and watched his hands twist and untwist in his lap.

Suddenly, Charlie spoke from beside him, and the rest of the room fell quiet.

"Hi everyone. Most of you know me already, but for those who are new, I'm Charlie, and I'm a drama therapist. I'll be running these sessions for the next six months. Each week, we will go through a series of exercises designed to support you in dealing with your issues. I need to remind all of you that this is a safe space and that nothing that is shared here is to be repeated outside of this room."

Cas heard the man snort softly beside him, and suddenly knew who was the new person who had been forced to attend. He felt his heart sink and he felt a bit sick.

"Right, now I've introduced myself," Charlie said from above Cas, "let's get you all standing up, and we'll get into our first exercise." Everyone stood and began to clear the chairs away to the side. Dean was the only one left seated, and it wasn't until everyone else had returned to stand in a circle again that he huffed and stood up, kicking his chair out of the way with a bang. Cas heard Charlie give a minute sigh, but only because he knew her so well.

"Ok, we're going to go round the circle, you are going to say your name, and then you are going to pass this big ball of energy" Charlie mimed a ball with her hands "to the person on your left, and say 'zip'. Like this; Charlie, Zip" as Charlie said zip, she pressed her hands together and moved quickly so that they were pointing to the person on her left. 

"Louise, Zip"  
"Alex, Zip"  
"Donna, Zip"  
"Holly, Zip"

On and on round the circle it went until it got to the man who had returned to stand on Cas' right.

"What happened to, I'm Dean, and I'm an alcoholic?" The man drawled, arms firmly crossed.

"It's nice to meet you, Dean, but this isn't Alcoholics Anonymous, this is drama therapy. Now, are you zipping or shall we move on?" Dean just shook his head in disbelief, so Charlie gave Cas a small smile in encouragement.

"I'm Castiel, zip." He passed the energy back to Charlie. He thought he heard Dean give a small snigger, probably at his name, but chose to ignore it.

"Right, we now know that zip passes energy to the left, so now we can add some more moves. Zip can also pass the energy to the right, if you move your hands in the other direction. There's also Zap, which can pass energy across the circle. You clasp your hands together and point them at the person you're passing the energy to, and you have to make eye contact. You can also 'boing' it back to someone, which means you don't accept the energy and it has to go in another direction. Is this clear to everyone?" There were nods around the room. "Ok. Zip" Charlie passed the energy to Castiel this time. Without really thinking about it, he zipped it onto Dean on his right.

"Boing." Dean said lazily. Cas glared at him, then passed the energy back to Charlie, who passed it to Louise, and on round the circle, until the person on Dean's other side passed it to Dean again.

"Boing" he repeated. Amy zapped it back across the circle, and it passed around, heading back for Castiel again. Cas' mind raced, deciding there was no point passing it back to Dean, and he did not want to pass it straight back to Charlie. but he hated zap as it required him to make eye contact with someone he didn't know. He ignored the small voice that said that he was more than happy to do it with Dean a few minutes ago. When the energy reached him, he did zap it across the circle, to a small blonde girl who had also attended the last series of sessions with Charlie.

The game continued for a few minutes, zipping and zapping, and Dean always boinging if anyone sent the energy to him. Eventually, Charlie bought the game to a close.

"Ok, now we're all warmed up a bit, we're going to work on our breathing. Breathing is important in drama, and in theatre, because it allows us to speak loudly - to project, to an audience. If I want to shout orders across a battlefield of Moondor, I need to do it from my diaphragm, otherwise I lose my voice halfway through a battle, and then we lose the war," most of those who had done a session with Charlie before knew she liked to LARP on the weekends, and smiled at her joke. Cas had even been with her a few times and chuckled at the memory of her giving a pre-battle speech to her troops.

"Breathing is also important. Deep breathing can help to calm our emotions, whether anxiety, anger, or even excitement. Paired with visualization, which we will also be starting today, it is one of the most useful techniques you will learn, and I would encourage you to practice it at home. But for now, close your eyes, and try and breathe in and out to my count."

Cas let his eyes slip closed, and placed both hands over his middle so that he could feel his breaths coming in and out as his lungs expanded. He breathed in and out to the familiar routine of Charlie counting, in, hold, and out to her soft count. All was going well until he registered a rasping breath on his right hand side. Dean was breathing very loudly, whether intentionally or not, but it made Cas' own breathing speed up, partly in annoyance, but also because he could imagine the deep and heavy breaths this man would make in the bedroom. Preferably also whilst moaning Cas' name.

Cas was brought back to the room when Charlie began speaking again. "Ok, keep controlling your breathing. Next time you breathe in; imagine that you are breathing in a yellow light, that it is filling you up a little more every time you breathe in. As you breathe out, the light is black, because it has picked up all of the negativity and tension in your body and you are releasing it from you. Feel the positive energy you are pulling into yourself, and feel the tension leaving you."

Cas had his own little routine at this point. He liked to imagine that he was an angel, pulling grace into him to fill the power core at his center. He would roll the grace around his body, picking up the dual demons of negativity and tension, and force them from him as if he were an angel smiting a genuine demon. He would imagine black smoke pouring from his body as if he were expelling demons from their host bodies. He always found that he felt lighter after this exercise and more at peace with himself.

He didn't notice that Dean had stopped being noisy until Charlie called a halt to the exercise, and then he looked over him in surprise. Dean still had his eyes closed, his breathing deep, and quiet. He looked peaceful at last, some tension gone as his shoulders were lower, although he still looked coiled and ready to spring. Suddenly, Dean let out a tiny snore, and Cas realized that Dean had fallen asleep standing up. Cas felt a flash of annoyance, and then reminded himself that patience was a virtue, and falling asleep during the exercise was actually not that uncommon, although usually it happened when they performed it lying down.

He dug Dean in the ribs with his elbow. Dean's eyes snapped open, and he glared at Cas, before he seemed to remember where he was and flushed when he realized what happened. Cas gave him a tiny smile before he turned back to Charlie, to see what was in store next.

They did a few more exercises after that, games designed to build trust and get to know each other. Dean joined in after his nap, albeit reluctantly. When Charlie paused for a break, Cas went to grab his bottle of water and took a long drink. When he was done, he realized that Dean was standing beside him, staring.

"Hey, man... err, Castiel, right?" Cas nodded; surprised that Dean was speaking to him. "So, what are you in for? Or are we not supposed to ask each other that?" Cas tilted his head in confusion.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"What did you do to be sent here?" Cas realized Dean's mistake and annoyance surged through him.

"We're not all criminals, Dean. Some of us choose to be here because we are aware of our issues and choose to deal with them. Not all of us resort to crime to force us to attend therapy." Anger flashed across Dean's face at Cas' words.

"Hey! I'm not a criminal." He balled his fists by his side. "Can't be a criminal if I don't remember what happened." Dean muttered, clearly embarrassed. Cas shook his head and walked away, not wanting to get involved.

The final hour went by slowly after that as Cas wanted nothing more than to stop being in the same room as Dean. Finally, Charlie called a halt to the exercises.

"That's it for today, guys. Well done everyone and I will see you next week. Dean, before you go, can I have a word please?" Cas looked at Charlie in surprise, but she just gave him a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder.

"See you next week." She said. Cas knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he got his stuff together and left.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had got through the first 'therapy' session by thinking about the burger and beer he was going to have at the Roundhouse when it was all over. As soon as Charlie called a halt to the 'exercises' he dashed over to pick up his coat and run out of the door. So he was a bit pissed off to hear Charlie call for him to stay. Dean’s heart stopped as he realised that Charlie could kick him out of the group and he would have to go back to court. He walked reluctantly over to where Charlie was standing by the doors, saying goodbye to the others in the session. She didn't say anything to him until the last person left the room, which left Dean to stand there like an idiot and get more and more worried about what she was going to say. Eventually, she shut the door and let out a sigh.

"Come with me, Dean." Charlie said as she walked to the one chair with stuff left on it. She went to open her bag, and then looked at him sternly.

"Are you really an alcoholic?" She asked. Dean shook his head, confused. Charlie pulled two bottles of beer out of her bag, and passed one to Dean. They opened them and Charlie tilted her bottle to Dean, who clinked his bottle back against hers. He was starting to feel a bit like maybe she wasn't going to kick him out after all, but he wasn't expecting to share a beer with his therapist.

She sat on a chair and beckoned for Dean to do the same.

"So, Dean. You obviously didn't enjoy the session. I know that you were ordered to attend by Judge Hendrickson, but I do want you to enjoy it and get some benefit out of it. Otherwise I may as well just hack into the government system and change the records to show you've attended instead of wasting both of our times.”

"You could do that?" Dean said, disbelieving, and a little hopeful.

"I could. But I won't. What I could do is report back to the judge that you're being difficult and obstructive, and he would put you on community service instead." Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Charlie held up a hand to stop him.

"I won't do that either, but I want you to make good choices, Dean. I want you to want to be here. After all, we could have fun, and if you get a bit of help from it then great. If not, all you've lost is a couple of hours a week for six months. That's got to better than the alternative."

Dean nodded glumly. She was right, this was better than the alternative of jail or community service, but it did not mean he would be able to enjoy it. As if she could sense the doubt in his thoughts, Charlie sighed.

"Alright, Dean. You can go. I'll see you next week, I hope." Dean downed the rest of his beer, and nodded as he passed her the empty bottle. He supposed that she was pretty cool for talking to him like this rather than just writing him off.

"See you next week" Dean said gruffly, while he grabbed his coat and left as quickly as possible.

***

A short time later, Dean slumped down onto a bar stool at the roundhouse, and managed a flash of a grin for Jo who stood in front of him.

"I'll have a beer and one of your best burgers please, barkeep."

Jo passed him a beer. A few minutes later, she hopped up on the stool next to Dean and slid two burgers onto the counter. Dean nodded his thanks and dug in. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Jo said; "so, not seen you for a few days..." She trailed off and looked at him.

"Yeah, well, after getting arrested for being drunk and disorderly, I thought I should give drinking a miss for a couple of days. Well, drinking out of the house anyway." He amended, "Sam's got me on a tight leash. It would help if I could remember what happened."

"You don't remember any of it?" Jo said. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, you were pretty far gone. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Sitting at MacPhersons, drinking whisky."

"Do you remember me turning up?" Dean looked at Jo in surprise.

"No?"

"When mom kicked you out, I could tell you weren't going home. So when I finished my shift, I followed you to MacPhersons. You'd already been there about an hour, and you were just about hanging on to your stool."

"There were a couple of stag parties in, including one for a gay guy who was getting married. To a guy named Steve, if you really wanted to know, and they were pretty friendly. Then, a couple of guys from the group came and sat with us at the bar. Both very cute, both very gay. You started flirting with the guy closest to you."

"What? I don't flirt with guys." Dean shouted, before he realized how loudly he had spoken, then said in a whisper; "I'm not gay."

"Unless you're drunk" Jo muttered under her breath. Dean chose to ignore that comment. He knew he wasn't gay. He'd kissed a couple of guys in high school, but only because he was dared to. And he might think that Dry Sexy was a very attractive human being, but that didn't make him gay. A flash of blue eyes and messy black hair shot through his mind, but he shoved it down. Besides, he liked women, loved sex with women, how could he be gay?

"So anyway," Jo continued her story, “you were not-flirting flirting with this guy, and he was flirting back, I might add. But you lost your balance and ended up face planting yourself into this guy’s chest, and he put his arms around you to catch you. Unfortunately, your timing was awful because the guy’s boyfriend just walked into the bar and saw you. He thought you were coming onto his man, so came over and dragged you off him and off your stool. You stood up and punched him, right in the jaw." Jo sounded a little too gleeful about this and reminded Dean that she was actually a bloodthirsty little savage despite being petite and blonde.

"So, he pushed you again. I did try and pull you away but you weren't interested. It turned into a full blown fight, and Mac called the Sheriff. Sheriff Lafitte and Garth turned up and arrested you, because even though the other guy instigated it, he was pretty sober and talked to them like a reasonable person, whereas you wouldn't stop ranting at them." Jo took a deep breath as she finished her story. They sat in silence while Dean processed what he had been told.

"I rang Sam as soon as they took you away. He was pretty upset." Jo said finally, when Dean didn't say anything else.

"Yeah, he was. He got all suited up and came and got me though, he could've left me to rot." Maybe should have left me to rot, Dean thought guiltily. It's not good for the reputation of a hot shot lawyer to have a deadbeat brother. He shook his head sadly.

After his Dad died last year, Dean had lived in a state of numbed shock for a long time. There had been too much to do, arranging the funeral, the grave next to his mom, the headstone, picking up the pieces of the Winchester and Son's garage, dealing with the will and what John had left to Sam and Dean, that for a while he hadn't had any room for anything else. Then, when life had started to return to normal and Dean had finally been able to stop, to breathe, and to think, he could feel nothing but anger.

He was angry at his dad for drinking himself into a stupor on a night when Dean had been working late, and deciding that he needed more whiskey, and driving - fucking driving - to go and get it. He had run a stop light, and killed himself in a smash with a truck that sideswiped him on the driver’s side. He was angry with Sam for also being out that night, for being on a date and being happy, while his dad was dying. He was even angry with his mom, for dying when he was four and meaning that now John was gone, he and Sam had no parents left, no family but each other.

But most of all, Dean was angry with himself. For working late that night to finish a car for a stupid customer. For believing that his dad might have one day changed his alcoholic behaviors and become again the dad that he had been once. For not being able to stop his dad from drinking. For not being enough for his dad after his mom died, so that he'd had to listen to his dad cry himself to sleep every night, for twelve years. Twelve years until Dean could work in the garage full time and John could give himself to his alcoholism. Then John didn't cry himself to sleep, he just slid through a bottle into unconsciousness every night.

"So, what did the judge say?" Jo finally broke through his dark thoughts, and Dean came back to himself. He realized he had been clenching one hand into a tight fist on his lap, and had gripped his beer bottle so tightly with his other hand that he was surprised that it hadn't broken. He took two deep breaths, trying to fill right to the bottom of his lungs as he had learnt earlier this evening. He slowly unclenched his fists, the one from his lap had deep crescent grooves in, and he straightened out his fingers with a low hiss. Jo eyed him, but did not say anything further.

"I'm in court ordered therapy," Dean muttered grumpily. Jo nodded, thoughtfully.

"Could be good for you." She said.

"Fuck you." Dean retorted, but there was no malice in it really.

"So, are you seeing Pamela?" Dean looked at Jo, surprised that she knew the name of the court therapist. She raised her eyebrows at him but did not answer his unspoken question.

"No, turns out she's not around. I'm seeing this Charlie chick. She runs group sessions, but all we did tonight was play stupid games." He conveniently ignored the fact that he had just used one of those stupid games to calm down.

"Wait, you're doing drama therapy?" Jo cackled, laughing so hard she nearly fell off her stool. Dean looked down at the bar, unamused. When Jo could eventually breathe again, Dean punched her lightly in the arm for laughing at him. She glared, and they started punching and pushing trying to get the other off of their stool in a battle for supremacy they went through at least three times a week. They were cackling like hyenas, until Ellen placed two glasses of whiskey down in front of them, harder than strictly necessary and glared at them.

"Stop disturbing my customers." Ellen said, as she always did. They sobered up as much as they could, but were still grinning.

"So when do you start?" Jo asked. Dean's smile was immediately wiped from my face.

"Four hours ago."

"How'd it go?" Dean looked at Jo sharply. She wasn't laughing at him now, just smiling at him with what looked like genuine interest.

"It was ok. The exercises were like being back at school, but Charlie seemed cool. The others were... Interesting." Particularly the guy he had been standing next to. He had seemed like he wanted to be nice at first, but Dean had unintentionally pissed him off. Which was annoying - finding someone to joke around with seemed like the best way to get through the time. Everyone took it a lot more seriously than he thought they would.

Dean sighed to himself. It was going to be a long six months.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am very silly, this chapter was not originally posted to this fic. Someone very nicely pointed out that there were a couple of references in the next chapter that did not make sense which made me realise I had missed a bit when posting!
> 
> Hope this clears up any confusion!

Despite his worry, the next week passed quickly for Dean. All too soon, it was Wednesday again, and time for another ‘session’. Dean pulled up to the school and sat in the impala, looking dejectedly through the windscreen as The Animals played softly in the background. Dean wondered how many people he was going to piss of this week, and thought about the conversation with Charlie. He supposed that he should make a bit more of an effort to be involved, just to keep her off of his back and away from his parole officer. Dean got out of the car with a sigh. Two hours. That was it. He could manage two hours. Then Sam and Jess were cooking him dinner after, and they were bound to have beer in the fridge.

Dean walked into the large hall with long black curtains around it, and found the chairs were set up in a circle again. A couple of the other attendees looked up and met his gaze, and he nodded at them. Charlie was suddenly there, and she stuck her hand out and gave him a wide smile, so he shook her hand, firm with good eye contact, his standard ‘nothing more to see here’ ploy. Charlie raised an eyebrow at Dean and he suspected that she saw straight through him.

“Good to see you back, Dean.” She grinned again and let go. There was a snort from somewhere behind her, and as Charlie moved away, Dean spotted the dark-haired dude he had sat next to last week sitting in the circle, staring at Dean. Dean looked back for a few seconds, reminded of just how blue those eyes were, and just how attractive that rumpled hair was.

But then the guy - Cassie? Cassanova? - did not drop his gaze, just kept staring at him. It was Dean’s first instinct to get annoyed, to go over to him and demand to know what his problem was. He was halfway to closing the distance between them, when he paused and took a deep breath. This was the type of reactions he was supposed to be dealing with, right? So, he would prove that he wasn’t some criminal with anger issues (even if that was exactly what he was).

The guy was still staring at him, eyes wide now with something that might have been a trace of fear. Dean immediately felt guilty, and knew that he would not get away with just slinking off. He continued on his path at a more measured pace and threw himself into the chair next to the guy and attempted a nonchalant pose - arms folded, legs stretched out as he slumped into the chair.

“Hey. Look, man. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot last week. I didn’t realize people actually chose to come to this, so I thought everyone had to be here like me. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Look at Dean all grown up and apologizing. Sammy would be so proud. Dean thought to himself snarkily, whilst he waited for a response. When one was not forthcoming, he looked over. The guy was staring at him again, mouth slightly open as if surprised by his words. Dean tried not to be offended all over again. He was kind of surprised by his own apology after all.

Eventually the guy closed his mouth with a sharp snap.

“Ok. I’m sorry if I over-reacted. I’ve not had good experiences with people like… with people who have not been here by choice in the past.” Dean knew that he had been about to say ‘people like you’, but chose to ignore it. Damn, Sam had better be cooking something amazing for tonight as a reward for all of this hard work.

“Let’s start over, shall we? I’m Dean Winchester.” Dean held his hand out. Blue eyes looked at it for a long second, analyzing. Dean glanced at his hand. He had been at the garage today, and even though he had showered before coming out, he still had a bit of oil underneath his fingers. Dean also had callouses on his hand from at least a decade of hard work, despite his relatively young age. He nearly pulled it away again, but the other man finally seized it in his own, and shook it. Dean looked at the other hand, white and soft in his. Probably some boring office worker then, no concept of hard work. Blue eyes probably dismissed him as a stupid grease monkey anyway, so it was only fair to make his own judgements.

“I’m Castiel.” The guy said, finally. Dean realized they were holding hands now as he seemed to have forgotten to let go as he made assumptions about people he didn’t know.

“So, any idea what we have in store today?” Dean asked as he dropped Castiel’s hand as if it were a live snake.

“Charlie tries to vary it from course to course, so that it doesn’t get too repetitive for those who attend more than one series.”

“There are people who choose to do this for more than six months?” Dean said, without really thinking. He could almost see Castiel bristle like an offended cat.

“I have been working with Charlie for over two years now.” He said, stonily.

“Sorry, Cas. I keep putting my foot in it, don’t I. I’m not normally this bad, honest. I’m just… uncomfortable, I guess.” Cas’ expression softened, just a little.

“Cas?” He asked, and Dean cursed to himself. He’d exchanged maybe three sentences with this guy, and he had managed to say something wrong, every time.

“Sorry, Castiel.”

“No, it’s ok. I like to be called Cas, it’s just I normally like to get to know someone first, before I tell them that. You can call me Cas, if you like.” The guy’s voice was so deep and gravelly; it was like listening to a landslide. Dean wanted to keep talking to him, just to keep listening to his voice. That was normal right? He would be the same if he ever met Morgan Freeman.

“Ok, Cas. So, what do you do?” 

“I work in a bookshop.” That’s slightly more interesting than an office, Dean thought to himself.

“I always like the smell of bookshops.” Cas looked at Dean in surprise. “Yes, I can read. I know it might come as a shock.” Cas flushed a little. Dean definitely was not the only one making assumptions.

“What sort of books do you sell?”

“A little bit of everything, mainly non-fiction reference, but we do have a small fiction section. We’re quite well known for our selection of Christian books about the history of the church through the ages...” Dean zoned out a little, enjoying listening to Cas’ voice, but he wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. After a couple of minutes, Cas looked at Dean sharply.

“I’m boring you.”

“No, not at all.” Dean sat a little straighter, trying to look interested.

“Who is your favorite author?”

“Well, I like a lot, but Vonnegut is top of my list.” Cas’ eyebrows rose slightly.

“Which books have you read?” Dean thought that Cas did not believe him. He supposed in a book shop people often pretended to read stuff that they had not to seem better or something.

“Cat’s Cradle is my favorite, but I also liked Slaughterhouse five, of course.” Cas nodded.

“I found Slapstick most intriguing.”

“Dude, Vonnegut only gave that a D, and I don’t blame him. That’s just bad in comparison to Cat’s Cradle.” Cas was staring at him again, and Dean flushed. He normally liked to maintain his “I work on cars therefore I must be dumb, pretty, but dumb” persona. It got him laid, and generally kept him out of trouble. There was something about this room, these people, and this person in particular that seemed to make it impossible for him to wear that mask.

“Do you know any Shakespeare? We performed A Midsummer Night’s Dream with the last group, and I found it very enjoyable.” Dean was shaking his head at Cas’ question, until he got to the end of his sentence.

“Wait, what?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Dean. Have you read it?”

“We have to give a performance?”  
Cas tilted his head in confusion.

“Yes, was that not explained to you?”

Dean nearly stood up and stormed out of there. No wonder Jo had found the whole thing so hilarious, and no surprise that Sam had pushed him into this. His little brother would love to come and see him make a dick of himself on stage. Dean was about to pull himself to his feet, when Charlie called the group to order. Dean realized he did not really have the option to leave. If he left he would end up doing community service or jail.

“Right, if everyone could stand please, we’re going to do the breathing exercises we started last week. If you could close your eyes and breathe to my count.”

Dean stood with the rest of the group, shut his eyes and tried to slow his breathing to match Charlie’s count. It is better than the other options, it is better than the other options, Dean repeated to himself, over and over again.

A few slow minutes of being told how to breathe as if it wasn’t something they all did anyway, and Charlie told them all to open their eyes.

“We’re going to be doing some trust exercises today. It’s important we begin to trust each other as a group, so that when we get to some of the later sessions, we are all comfortable enough with each other to be able to deal with issues in this forum, with these people.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“The first exercise is called truth or lie. We’ll split into teams of four, and each person has to give two facts about themselves, one which is true, and one which is a lie. We then have to decide which is which. We get to learn a bit more about each other, and we can start to understand the type of behaviors we use when we are trying to cover something up, whether that be a truth about ourselves that we don’t want people to know, or an action or piece of history we aren’t ready to reveal”

Charlie briskly divided them into groups, and those who had played the game before set up the chairs into a panel of four, with the rest as an audience facing them. Dean and Cas ended up on different teams, Dean in the second team, Cas in the last.

Dean watched the first group disinterestedly. One of the girls was so giggly and embarrassed across both of her statements (“My favorite color is pink and my favorite animal is a kitten”) that it was nearly impossible to work out. They ended up guessing the kitten was false, but of course they were wrong because “my favorite color is actually fuschia” (isn’t that just another word for pink?)

Some of the others took it a bit more seriously and chose comments presumably related to the reason they were there. One guy said “I have agoraphobia” and “I have been going to Charlie’s sessions for four years”. The lie was the four years thing because it had actually been five. Dean felt sorry for the guy, but wondered how he managed to get to group if he didn’t like going outside.

Then it was the turn of his group. Dean sat down in one of the four chairs facing the audience. Suddenly, with all eyes on them, this didn’t seem quite so funny. Dean realized he had not thought about what he was going to say. He started to panic, and his breathing sped up as the first girl in their group started talking.

“I’m originally from Minnesota, and I have three dogs.”

Dean shut his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, trying to count as Charlie had been doing earlier. He vaguely heard the next person talking, and then it was his turn, and he did not have anything to say. Dean sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, before he decided to fall back on the mask that had served him so well all of his life. He straightened up, plastered a confident grin on his face, and said:

“I drive a 1967 Chevy Impala, the best car ever made, and I’ve slept with over 50 women.” He winked at the girl who had gone first, a slight blonde girl wearing a little too much make up for Dean’s taste. She smirked at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas’ smile fade slightly, and Charlie gave a slight frown, before she gestured to the guy on Dean’s left to speak.

They went on down the line, and then it was down to the audience to work out which of the statements were lies. Dean stopped listening until they came back round to him again; trying to calm the adrenaline that had surged through his system and was making his legs shake.

“So, which of Dean’s statements was a lie?" Charlie asked, tone neutral. There was some discussion about whether Chevrolet had even made cars in '67, and would they still be around. Dean wanted to go over and punch the guy who had started that discussion, but that would probably give the game away. He tried to keep his face neutral. Then talk turned to his other statement, and that was both good and bad for his ego.

"He's hot enough to have slept with that many women." The woman on the end said, and winked at him. He smirked at her.

"Really?" One of the guys in the audience said, doubtfully. "Maybe he's too pretty. Maybe he's gay, that's why that's the lie."

"Hey!" Dean said, standing up at the same time as Charlie said;

"Alistair, we don't make comments like that in his environment. You should know that by now. Do it again, and I'll kick you in the shins." Dean looked at Charlie in surprise, and grinned, anger draining from him. Whilst he did not need anyone fighting his battles, her response was hilarious, and fairly unprofessional. Maybe she was not so bad.

"So, Dean, do you want to tell us which was which?" Charlie said, nodding at him. Dean sat down again, although he did glare at the guy who had made the remark.

"My baby really is a '67 Chevrolet, and she's in perfect condition, especially for an old girl. The lie was about the women...."

"Ha, knew it" Alistair said. Dean gritted his teeth but continued as if he hadn't said anything.

"Not because I'm gay" he spat the term out (why did people keep thinking that anyway?) "but because I lost count in the mid-thirties, so it could be more, could be less." He sat back and folded his arms with a smug expression. Charlie rolled her eyes at him. Dean happened to glance at Castiel again, and he was staring at Dean, a sad expression on his face. Dean felt slightly guilty, but he wasn't quite sure why.

The game moved on, and soon his team's turn was over. Dean managed to resist the urge to go over and deck Alistair, but only just. He slumped back into his chair in the audience and ignored the next team. He only paid attention again when the game came round to Castiel's turn.

He considered for a long moment, as if like Dean he had not considered his answers whilst waiting for his turn. Finally, he said; "I own a bookshop and we only sell non-fiction books, and" Castiel took a deep breath as if to prepare himself for the second part of his sentence "I am gay".

Dean felt instantly horrible. He knew what books Castiel sold; they had talked about it an hour ago, so that was the lie. His truth was that he was gay. And there had been Dean, saying that he was not gay as if it were the worst thing in the world. He did not have a problem with other people being gay, he had friends who were gay. It was just that he got fed up of people thinking that he was gay, when he liked women. Cas probably thought he was a huge homophobe and hated him.

Dean was sat on the edge of his seat, ready to defend Cas if Alistair made any comment, but he had apparently taken Charlie's threat to heart and said nothing. A few people had been into Cas' bookshop, and we're trying to remember what it sold. Somebody piped up that they had bought Pride and Prejudice from there, and that was fiction, right? They came to the right conclusion, and Cas sat back in his chair when the attention moved on from him, looking pale and drained.

The rest of the session passed quickly after that. They did another stupid trust exercise, and Cas avoided him for the rest of the time. Dean really wanted to apologize and clear things up, so he hung around as Charlie dismissed the group. Dean hovered in the corridor to catch Cas as he left. He leant against the wall and listened to the chatter reduce as more people left. Eventually, it was only Charlie and Cas left in the room.

"I'm really proud of you, Cas." Charlie said, voice floating out to Dean. It sounded faintly muffled, and Dean peeked round the door. Charlie was hugging Cas, face pressed against his chest. Dean felt an odd pang in his gut that he could not identify. He thought to himself that they probably were not together if Cas was gay, and the pang eased slightly. Dean decided to put that thought carefully in a box to examine more closely later. Or not, hopefully.

"It wasn't that long ago you couldn't even say the words. That was really brave, what you just did." Cas shrugged, stepping carefully away from Charlie. Dean could not see his face, but he felt even worse now. So, that was Cas' thing, that why he was here, and Dean had stomped all over it. He was glad that Cas had still been brave enough to say it, and man did he deserve that apology.

A few minutes later, Cas came out of the door and started walking the other way without noticing Dean.

"Cas, wait up." Dean said. Cas stiffened, but he did stop and look round at Dean slowly. He did not say anything, just stared.

"Look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean... Erm what I mean is," Dean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the blush rising across his face. "I don't care if you're gay. I wanted you to know that. I just, get called gay a lot, and it annoys me when I like girls, you know?" Castiel's stiff expression didn't change. He just nodded slightly, and waited without saying anything.

"I'm glad you still said what you said. It was brave, y'know, especially with that dick Alistair in the room." Charlie chose that moment to walk out of the hall, and heard what he said.

"You shouldn't talk about others in the group like that, Dean. Even if it happens to be true." Dean grinned at her, and then looked back at Cas, whose expression had softened slightly as he stared back at Dean.

"So, anyway." Dean said, clapping Cas on the shoulder. "I'll see you both next week, 'k?" Cas nodded and gave him a small smile.

"See you later." Charlie said, waving her hand at him in the live long and prosper sign. He shook his head at her and walked away, but then waved back over his shoulder in the same gesture as he walked away. He ignored the faint tingle in his other hand that had touched Cas, filing that away in the same box as earlier.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in particular details what happened to Castiel to make him go to Charlie's therapy group, including a homophobic attack. If this is likely to distress you, you can skip the chapter.

Castiel sat at the counter in his bookshop, staring at the blinking white cursor on the empty page of his word processor. He had been staring at the screen of his laptop for an hour that morning, trying to write the next chapter of his third novel. He had been trying for two weeks now, but his writers block was still firmly in place, a wall impossible for him to break through. It had started since he had begun back at Charlie’s group, and Cas was not oblivious to the cause.

Castiel was being haunted by a pair of green eyes, by the man that was such an enigma to him – a puzzle he wanted to solve. Devilishly attractive, cocky, but with occasional flashes of vulnerability and longing that Cas just wanted to kiss away. But Dean was straight, and every time his thoughts wandered off into daydreams about the man, he caught himself. It made him feel like there was something stuck in the back of his throat, his unrequited desire like lead in his stomach.

Cas sighed and stood, deciding to procrastinate by doing some re-stocking instead. He retrieved the cart from the stock room and slowly filled the gaps around the store, deep in thought. He thought about the first time he had joined Charlie’s group, being rock bottom after the death of his estranged father and being beaten up outside of a bikers bar he was just walking past. He had denied he was gay until he was almost literally blue in the face, but for whatever reason, the two bikers that had been smoking outside hadn’t believed him, and had taken exception to the way he was breathing.

The beating and slurs only stopped after a bystander had called the cops, and chief Benny had pulled one of the men off of him, having already punched the other in the jaw. Cas had received three broken ribs, two black eyes, and a sprained wrist. He had been in the ER, on a gurney in the corridor, wondering how this had become his life, as he read the notices on the board beside him to pass the time. He had read Charlie’s flyer about drama therapy and the benefits it can have, but dismissed it as something he didn’t need.

After he got home, he did not leave the house for three weeks. He was too anxious that someone else would take exception to his sexuality, even if he didn’t tell them, and denied it if they asked. He stopped opening the bookshop, and that nearly went under. He mooched around the house, flitting between lying on the couch, sleeping or channel-surfing, or cowering behind the kitchen table because the mailman knocked on the door with a delivery, or one of his neighbors tried to come by.

Gabriel – the one brother who had not disowned him after the fact that he was gay was discovered by his parents – kept sending him text messages through these weeks. Eventually even he got concerned after getting no response, and ended up breaking the door down to get in. Gabriel had ignored Cas’ anguished cries; due to the fact that he was convinced that someone was coming in to kill him. It was only when Gabriel was wrapped around him and rocking him gently on the kitchen floor, that Cas was forced to acknowledged he had a problem.

After a few days of Gabriel being around, Cas was ready to agree to anything to get his house back. So when Gabe had said that he wasn’t leaving until Cas went to therapy, Cas remembered Charlie’s flyer and did some research. He liked the idea of drama therapy better than talking therapy, and had booked to start the following week. Gabe had wanted to stay until after the first session, but Cas argued long and hard until he agreed to go, and he breathed a sigh of relief once he shut the door behind his brother.

The first session had been… challenging. It was the first time he had been somewhere new and amongst people he did not know since the attack. He’d had a minor panic attack that Charlie had talked him down from, but somehow managed to get through the whole session anyway. He had nearly not gone back the next week, but he had forced himself too and two years later he was glad that he had.

It had taken a long time, a lot of panic attacks, but he had slowly clawed his way out of the pit he had been in, and put his life together. He had written two novels in that time, the first started at 3am one morning when insomnia and inspiration struck. And then, he had managed to announce he was gay to a room full of people, without even a shake in his voice. Cas knew that was mostly down to Charlie. He had felt a warm glow after she had told him that she was proud of him, and it had only grown after Dean had said that he thought that Cas was brave.

Cas growled to himself. There it was, no matter what he thought about, his brain took him right back to Dean Winchester. There was a polite cough from behind him, and Cas jumped out of his skin. He had been so deep in his thoughts that he had not noticed the tinkle of the bell above the door. He turned slowly, and his eyes widened with surprise.

As if summoned, Dean Winchester stood before him, holding out a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and smiling sheepishly.

“Hey, Cas. I didn’t mean to scare ya.” Dean said. Cas just stared at him, unable to believe what he was seeing. Dean waved a hand in front of his face.

“Cas, you in there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something. It’s not that much of a shock to see me in a bookshop is it?” He joked, but there was tension around Dean’s eyes.

“Sorry,” Cas muttered. He tried to recover himself. "So, Shakespeare? That's not your usual read."

"No, but after you told me about last time, I wanted to be prepared for what we might get this year. I guess I'm in it for the long haul." Dean said, shuffling his feet. Cas smiled at him softly, while the lead in his stomach made itself known again. He was going to have to see Dean once a week for the next six months. He really was going to have to get over his little problem.

"You know, Charlie won't do the same performance twice. We'll be doing something different this time around."

"A different Shakespeare play then?" Dean headed over to the tiny section of plays they had stocked since Cas' first performance.

"Far be it for me to stop you reading Shakespeare, but it probably won't be. We've done a different playwright every time so far, Stanislavski for my first time, then Brecht, then Bennett, and finally Shakespeare." Cas ran his fingers along the spines of the play texts as he spoke. When he looked back at Dean, he was staring at Cas' hand. "Brecht was depressing as hell, but the others were really funny. I've got no idea what it could be this time."

Dean continued to stare, until Cas began to wonder what he was looking at. Did he have stray ink on his hand?

"Dean." The other man jumped slightly, and came back to himself.

"Sorry, I was listening, but I don't know who that Brecht guy is."

"It doesn't, matter. The truth is that we won't know what Charlie has up her sleeve until she announces it to the group. We've become friends outside of the group, and I have still never managed to wheedle it out of her."

Dean shrugged. "Oh well, I'll have to wait for the happy surprise I guess. Hey, do you want to get a coffee, or lunch maybe, and tell me about how it normally works, what I've got to look forward to?"

Cas bit the side of his mouth gently, checking he wasn't dreaming. Then he reminded himself that Dean was straight, he was only asking because he wanted information. But still, perhaps they could become friends, and maybe Cas would not get a dry mouth whenever he looked at Dean.

“Yes, ok. When would you like to go?”

“Do you want to get lunch today? It’s my day off, so I could come back later?”

Cas considered. He did not usually close the shop at lunchtime, preferring to eat a sandwich at the counter so he did not miss any lunchtime trade. But for Dean, he could make an exception.

“That sounds good. Better than a tuna sandwich, anyway.”

“Great, I’ll swing by about twelve thirty? Is Beth’s Diner ok?” Cas could only nod. “How much for the book?” Dean started to pull out his wallet, but Cas grabbed his wrist. Dean met his eyes, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Cas’ fingers tingled slightly, but he tried to ignore it.

“It’s yours, Dean. Just, please read it and let me know what you think.” Dean nodded at him, and then he was gone almost as suddenly as he had arrived. Cas drew in a shaking breath. 

***

A deep rumble alerted Cas to Dean’s arrival this time, as the sleek black impala pulled up outside of his shop window. Cas had spent the last half an hour staring out of the window looking out for Dean, but a customer had come in at the last minute, and Mrs Lavender was a regular, always seeking out the latest sickly romance novel. He finished the transaction as quickly as he could without - he hoped - being obvious about it.

“Hot date?” She asked shrewdly, giving him a smile.

“Oh no, nothing like that.” Cas replied, trying not to blush. “Just a new acquaintance, we’re going out for lunch.”

“Oh well, you’re such a nice boy, I’m sure it will turn into something more if it’s supposed to.”

Cas smiled down at her and handed her the novel wrapped in a blue and white paper bag.

“Enjoy your book, Mrs Lavender. I’m sure that I shall see you soon.”

“Goodbye, Castiel.”

Cas grabbed his coat and followed after her as quickly as he could. Dean had left the impala, and was leaning against her side with his arms folded. Dean took Cas’ breath away, and he thought to himself that the world was not fair as he turned away to lock the shop door behind him.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas said finally, as he turned back to Dean.

“Hey, Cas. Ready to go?” Cas nodded. Dean opened the passenger door and beckoned for him to enter. Cas slid onto the bench seat, and Dean slammed the door shut for him. Cas ran his hands softly against the dash as Dean got into the car.

“She is a beauty.” Cas didn’t particularly care for cars in general, but he could see the attraction of this one. It was clearly loved and well cared for, and Cas could see in the way Dean caressed the steering wheel that it meant a lot to him.

“Yes she is.” They drove in silence to the diner, but it was not strange, it felt like the comfortable silence of people who had known each other for years. They pulled into the car park and Dean chose a space away from other cars, which was his habit to protect the paint work. They entered the diner and chose a booth at the back. The hostess gave them their menus and assured them that the waitress would be along soon.

Cas glanced at the menu, but put it straight down on the table. Dean grinned at him.

“Already decided, huh?”

“I always have the house burger whenever I come here. I often think I should try other menu items, but I love the burger too much.”

“I feel your pain. So what’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to try, but never have?” Cas picked up the menu again and looked at it.

“The gumbo. I’ve always wanted to try it, but wonder if it will be too hot.” Dean nodded and continued to stare at the menu.

“So, Cas. How are you supposed to read a play when one of the characters is called Bottom?”

Before Cas could answer, the waitress came over. She was a slim brunette with long hair and soft features, and Dean immediately grinned at her flirtily.

“What can I get you guys?” Dean started before Cas had a chance to speak.

“He’ll have the house burger please, and I’ll have the gumbo.”

Cas started. “Dean, you really don’t have too…”

“And two cokes, please. Some of us have to go back to work after this.” The waitress giggled and flicked her hair a little, and Cas has never hated a woman so much and so irrationally in his life.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas said as the waitress left. He shrugged and waved a hand.

“That’s ok, as long as I get a bite of your burger.” Dean winked at him, and Cas felt like he had whiplash. Did Dean realize how he was coming across, and just did not care, or did he genuinely not know?

"So, Bottom." Dean returned to their earlier subject, and then giggled to himself as he realized what he had said. Cas' mouth quirked involuntarily.

"You've started reading the play already?" Dean shrugged and blushed slightly

"I've opened it. I didn't have much else to do today. So who'd you play?"

"I was Puck. Charlie made me wear tights and everything. I think she thought there might be something therapeutic in playing a fairy." Cas said with a perfectly straight face. Dean stopped his light tapping on the table and narrowed his eyes.

"Was that a joke?"

"No, she really did make me wear tights." Cas said, and Dean laughed out loud.

Their food arrived a little while later after they had moved onto other subjects. Dean asked some questions about Cas' business, and even got out of Cas that he was a published author as well as bookshop author.

"Would I have read your stuff? I'm sure I would have remembered an author called Castiel."

"I use a pseudonym. I come from a very religious family, and although they cut me off, I didn't want to cause them any more shame or embarrassment given the subject matter." Dean's mouth dropped open.

"Please tell me you write porn. Or at least dirty romance novels?" Cas chuckled.

"That would have been more interesting. No, it's religious fiction about a garrison of angels and a war in heaven that spans millennia. The first two novels came to me so easily. But I signed a three book deal with the potential of an extension, and I'm currently struggling to write the third one."

Cas was about halfway through his burger, when Dean said "so, are you trying this gumbo?" He waved a spoonful of rice and shrimp in Cas' direction. Cas raised his hand to take the spoon, but Dean shook his head with a smirk and bought the spoon to Cas' mouth instead. He opened his mouth obediently, trying hard not to think about how much like a date this felt.

Then he had a mouthful of the tastiest rice he'd ever experienced. Saffron, spice and fish all melted together in a way he had never experienced.

"That's delicious," Cas said through the mouthful. Then covered his mouth with his hand as he realized what he had done. Dean grinned, then picked up his plate and swapped it with Cas', placing the spoon down on top. Cas immediately picked up the spoon and ate another mouthful.

"This ok?" Dean said, gesturing to their swapped plates. Cas nodded.

"Assuming you don't care that I've eaten half the burger."

"Nah, this way I get the best of both worlds." Cas' hand stilled on the with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Was Dean intimating what Cas thought he was? No, Dean was straight, he'd told Cas that in no uncertain terms. If he was anything else, it would have come up, right?

"Do you normally like to have the best of both?" Cas said huskily, before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat, and looked down at his bowl to avoid Dean’s stare.

"Yeah, like having your pie and eating cake too." Cas looked up then. He tilted his head at Dean, confused. "It's something we used to say when I was little. Pie was my favorite thing in the world, so my mom made me a cinnamon apple pie for my third birthday, but I wanted a birthday cake too so I could blow out the candles, y'know? My mom made my dad go to the store and buy me a tiny cake so she could put three candles on it." Dean laughed quietly to himself. "Next birthday, she bought me both. Sammy was born by then, and after I blew the candles out, he grabbed the cake and smashed it into the table. The look on his face, when he licked his hands and tasted the cake, was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. I wasn't upset; I didn't really want to eat the cake."

Dean was obviously lost in the memory, a tiny smile flickering over his mouth, but it was quickly replaced by a flash of sadness. “What, Dean?" Dean looked at Cas as if he'd forgotten he was there.

"My mom died that night." Dean whispered, eyes haunted. "There was a fire..." He trailed off. Cas grabbed each of Dean's hands from where they were laying on the table, and held on tightly. He didn't know what to say, was never the best at social etiquette, so he just squeezed, and hoped it was enough. Eventually, Dean squeezed his hands back and let go, dropping them to his lap.

"Sorry, Cas." Dean muttered. "I don't normally talk about this shit to anyone. I don't know why it came out."

"It's ok, Dean. It could be the therapy. Sometimes it just opens doors that you had forgotten you had closed, and things spill it at strange times."

Dean nodded and picked up his burger again. Cas picked up his spoon, and they ate in silence for a few long moments.

When they had both finished eating, Dean pushed his plate away and immediately fished into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out some money and placed it on the table before getting up. "This was nice, Cas, but I should be getting back, and I know you won't want to leave the shop shut for too long. I'll see you on Wednesday."

And just like that, Dean was gone. Cas stared at the money, and reached for his own wallet until he realized that Dean had left enough to cover both of their meals and the tip. He shook his head and walked back to the shop, thoroughly confused and miserable.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean got home and threw himself onto his sofa. He placed his hands over his face and groaned. What had possessed him to talk about his mom like that? Castiel had been so kind about it, but Dean had acted like an asshole and run away without really saying anything else. He liked Cas, he was funny in a dry way, and nerdy too. He could listen to that voice forever, and when he had dropped an octave, Dean had felt heat pool within him in a way he had not experienced in a very long time.

"Not gay." Dean said out loud, "Dean Winchester is not gay." He ignored the voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Sam) that said he was just parroting what Dad used to say whenever Dean wanted to do something that John considered 'girly' (like art, dance, or drama). Dean thought that John would be rolling in his grave if he knew that Dean was attending drama therapy.

Trying to distract himself, Dean picked up A Midsummer Night's Dream again. He tried to read the first few pages but just could not get the hang of the language. It was all gibberish to him. He threw it back onto the table in frustration. He needed a distraction. He thought about watching some TV, maybe a movie, but he needed something that was going to stop him thinking. He walked over to his bookcase and looked at his book collection. Something Cas had said was niggling at him. What were his books about? An angel war? That rang a bell.

"No... It can't be..." Dean spoke into the silence. He pulled a book from the shelf and stared at it.

The Perfect Warrior, by Carver Edlund. And there on the front page, was a drawing of an angel with black hair, glowing blue eyes. He was even wearing that damn tan trench coat. The book was about the angel Cadulech, who had grown weary of the war in heaven and began to turn his attention more and more to earth. His battles with his heavenly host family, the absence of a mother figure and a distant father had resonated with Dean in a way that made him feel more whole and more lost all at the same time. And the novels were written by Castiel. The guy he had run away from earlier today.

"Fuck it." Dean thought about going back to the shop and trying to explain that he wasn't a crazy person that blurted out his life's secrets and then ran away, but was in fact a normal human being that had really loved Cas’ books, and could he please sign Dean's copy?

"No." Dean said aloud. He was trying to appear normal, not even more crazy. Maybe it would be better to leave it for a few days. He would see Cas soon enough anyway at the next session, perhaps Cas would have forgotten all about today. Dean could hope, anyway.

***

Wednesday inevitably rolled around again, and Dean pulled into the high school car park. He walked into the hall and immediately sought out Cas, who was sitting on the floor on the sidelines looking at his phone.

“Angry birds, Cas, really?” Dean said, nodding at Cas’ phone.

“I find it is a mindless way to pass the time.” Cas shrugged. Dean watched for a minute more before he started to fidget. Was Cas not going to talk to him?

“I’m sorry I, er, left last week. I guess I freaked out a bit.” Cas gave him a look that clearly said ‘you think?’

“I did think about what you said though.”

“Any bit in particular?” Cas asked noncommittally.

“Well, the bit about you actually. The bit when you described your books.” Dean waited a second to build tension in the hope that Cas might actually look at him, but no luck. “Are you Carver Edlund?”

Cas dropped his phone and it landed on the floor with a bang. Charlie and a few of the others looked around, but no-one came over. Cas looked around to check that no-one had heard, and finally looked at Dean.

“How do you know that?” Cas hissed.

“Your description reminded me of something I’d read. I found the book, and there you were, on the front cover.” Cas blushed scarlet.

“That was the brainchild of my over-zealous editor, Sarah, because I didn’t want my picture on the back cover. That does defeat the object of the pseudonym after all. She commissioned an illustrator, and before I knew it, the book was published with that on the front. Sarah assured me that no-one would know it was me.”

“It was the trench coat.” And the eyes, Dean added to himself. Cas flicked an invisible piece of dirt from the lapel of the coat that he was still wearing, as the bottom pooled around him like a small, tan puddle.

Charlie called the group to order, and they gathered in the circle that was now becoming traditional. Charlie guided them through their breathing and warm up exercises. When she had finished, she said; “We’re going to be continuing with trust exercises today, but we will finish those with a bit of time to spare. At the end of the session I’m going to talk through what the performance is for this year, and introduce somebody that I’ve got coming in to help.”  
For the first exercise, Charlie split the room into two groups of seven. Dean and Cas ended up in separate groups, and Dean was in a group with Louise, Donna and unfortunately, Alistair who had caused trouble in previous weeks. They had to stand in two rows and link hands with the person opposite, whilst one person stood at the head of the rows, turned around, and had to fall backwards into the waiting arms. According to Charlie, it was supposed to build and demonstrate the trust that they all had in each other. Dean almost called bullshit, but bit his tongue.

Louise went first, and with much squealing and fuss, but eventually dropped backwards and was caught by the group, then carefully levered back to a fully standing position. They went through the rest of the group without incident. When Alistair was up, Dean was near the front and was extremely tempted to let go and allow the jackass to fall through his hands onto the floor, but managed to restrain himself. Then it was Dean’s turn. He eyed his group warily; worried that he was going to fall backwards and crack his head because he was heavier then he looked. Perhaps he should have had a few less pies. Dean turned his back and took three deep breaths.

“Come on Winchester, what are you doing, you scared?” Alastair called out. Dean gripped his hands into fists but didn’t respond, simply vowing that next time they did this exercise, Alastair would end up on the floor. He breathed in and out again.

“Ready?” Dean said, eyes firmly closed now. As the group called an affirmative, he began to rock backwards slowly; until he scrunched his eyes even further shut and let gravity take him backwards.

He was caught in a group of arms, holding him up firmly for a few seconds, and then pushing him back onto his feet. He opened his eyes when he was fully standing again, to find Charlie right in front of him. He grinned at her.

“Not bad, Winchester. Not bad.” She punched him in the shoulder - and not particularly gently. Rubbing his arm, he went to stand by Cas who had just finished his own ordeal.

“Felt quite nice actually.” Dean said, quietly in case anyone heard his admission. Cas nodded, and went to speak but was interrupted by Charlie.

“So, quick exercise. You’ve got two minutes, to get in a row, tallest to shortest, without speaking. Go.” She made a show of pressing a button on her watch as they all looked at each other, waiting for someone else to make a move. Dean rolled his eyes, and pulled Cas to the middle of the room. Dean was definitely the tallest person in the room, even if Sam did have a habit of calling him a short-ass, and Cas was the next tallest. A few of the girls moved next and Kate, who was tiny, went and stood at the opposite side of the room to Dean and Cas. A few of the guys came up to Dean and Cas, looking them up and down and trying to make out like they were taller, but almost identical raised eyebrows quickly made them move down the line.

When they had all arranged themselves, Charlie grinned at them all. “Not bad, not bad. Now, I’m going to pair you up, and you’re going to repeat the exercise you just completed, but one on one. It’s easiest if you’re with someone close to you in height, so you’ve just made my life easier by getting in order.”

Dean looked at Cas. He supposed that as he’d already run his mouth off about one of his darkest secrets, he should trust the guy enough to fall backwards into his arms. Those arms that looked surprisingly muscular underneath his perpetual white shirt. Cas would be able to catch him with those arms, right? Dean of course did not want Cas to wrap his arms around Dean to stop him from falling, but he would do it for the sake of the exercise. Because Charlie asked him to. Not because he wanted to.

They moved into a clear space, and looked at each other awkwardly.

"Would you prefer it if I fall first?" Cas said, finally. Dean let out a relieved breath. He had not been sure how to ask. He nodded, trying not to seem too eager.

"I won't drop you." Dean said, with a grin to try and diffuse the tension between them.

"Of course not. I trust you, Dean." Without meeting Dean's eyes, Cas took a couple of steps forward. Dean stood there slightly dumbfounded by the sincerity in Cas' words. It made him feel warm.

Cas glanced back over his shoulder expectantly, and Dean remembered he was supposed to at least look like he was going to catch Cas, so he held his arms out. Cas nodded at him, and then began to tilt slowly backwards, giving Dean plenty of warning and time to adjust his weight. As he reached the critical tipping point, he fell backwards into Dean's waiting arms.

Dean looked down into Cas' eyes, and for a heart stopping second thought about leaning down to close the gap.

"Dean." Cas said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could help me up?" Dean suddenly remembered where they were and what position they were in. He quickly levered Cas back to his feet and took a large step away from him, putting some space between himself and those eyes that were slowly but surely sucking him in.

"Are you ready, Dean?"

"No." Dean said, without really thinking about either question or answer.

"If you don't want to do it, I'm sure Charlie will..."

"Wait, what?" Dean's upstairs brain caught up. "I mean, yeah it's my turn I guess."

"I won't drop you." Cas echoed Dean's earlier statement. Dean could not quite bring himself to do the same. He had always been an actions rather than words man after all. He turned his back on Cas, and without thinking about it, without hesitating, he threw himself backwards.

Dean promptly landed on the floor with a loud smack.

"Ow" Dean yelled. He had hit his head and elbow on the black wooden floor, instead of landing softly into Cas' arms as he was supposed to. He lay on his back feeling very dazed, and glared when Cas' horrified face came into his field of vision.

"You were supposed to catch me! What happened?" Dean exclaimed.

"I wasn't ready." Cas said, shame-faced. "You're supposed to check that the other person is ready before you throw yourself at them! Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," Dean muttered, face flaming as he looked around the room and realized that everyone had stopped to stare at the two of them. Charlie was grinning behind her hand, but tried to school her expression into concern when she realized that Dean was looking her way. 

"I'll help you up." Cas said, offering his hand.

"Don't you think you've done enough damage?" Dean snarked, but still put his hand into Cas' and let him pull him to his feet.

"So much for trust exercises." Dean muttered as he took another careful step away from Cas. Cas blushed and looked at him endearingly.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. Do you want to try again?"

"No, Cas. I think once was more than enough." Cas looked upset, and Dean realized he thought Dean was really angry.

"Its fine, man. I'll laugh about it with my brother later I'm sure. He'll tell me I deserved to fall on my ass for all the times I've pushed him over." Cas looked slightly mollified, but there was still the hint of a blush around his cheeks.

Charlie eventually called them to order, and they all grouped together again.

"So, that's the end of the exercises for tonight, but I did say I was going to talk to you about the show we are looking to do this year. Those of you who do not want to take part, you can go now, or stay and hear what it is and then make the call." Dean immediately made a move to get his coat.

"Of course, those who are mandated to be here are required to take part in the performance as part of the contract they signed."

Shit. Dean stopped in his tracks and stepped back to the group sheepishly. Nobody else had moved.

"Right, well. For this year’s performance, I decided I need a little help. I've drafted somebody in who's an expert on this type of drama, and she should be here any minute." There was suddenly a palpable air of excitement, but Dean just folded his arms, counting the seconds until he could leave. He really needed some Tylenol for his throbbing head.

"Has anyone heard of commedia dell'arte?" Cas of course put his hand up - the nerd - but no one else in the room did.

"It's a form of theatre which was originally developed in Italy in the late sixteenth century. Commedia companies toured Europe with plays, but because of the language barriers, they had to make themselves understood through physicality." Alastair made a crude gesture, which Charlie chose to ignore. "They also wore masks so that characters would be recognized by mask alone, which meant that there were a consistent set of characters from play to play. Ah, just in time."

The door to the hall had opened and a woman came striding in. She was tall, aided by the bright red patent heels she was wearing that clicked along the floor in time with her movement. She was olive skinned, with dark curly hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing black flowing trousers that were tight around her waist but looked like a skirt around her ankles, and a fitted red blouse that showed off her hourglass figure. She had a large bag slung over her shoulder. Dean wondered if he was drooling. He felt like he should be.

The woman strode up to Charlie and grabbed her shoulders. They air kissed, European style, and Charlie blushed a little. She steered the woman to stand beside her, and gestured to the group.

"Everyone, this is Isabella. She was originally from Italy, but moved over here to teach at Yale. She's agreed to help us with our project because she is also the U.S.' foremost expert on Commedia. Bella, this is everyone."

"It is great to meet you." Bella rolled her r's in a very sexy way, with a lilting Italian accent. Dean was finding this all very distracting. He looked over at Cas to see what he was making of all of this, and was surprised to see Cas was stony faced, clearly not enthusiastic.  
“So, that’s the end of the session for today, if you can all come through and introduce yourself to Bella on the way out, that would be great, and then I’ll see you next week.” Charlie concluded the group. Dean joined the queue to meet Bella, then looked around for Cas, but he had gathered his stuff and left the room as quickly as he could.


	7. Chapter 7

Cas was lying in his bed, awake far too early on Monday morning, his only day off in the week. He had managed to keep busy since the disastrous therapy session on Wednesday night and not really think about it, but now the whole thing was replaying in his head.

He could not believe that he had dropped Dean on the floor. Or at least he did not catch him, after telling Dean that he would not let him fall. He groaned and threw himself from his back onto his side as he gave the pillow a vicious punch in the hope it would make him feel better. It did not. The horror that he had felt when he saw Dean on the floor, and heard the awful crack of his head on the floor was still haunting him. Dean had been so upset - or maybe he had been being sarcastic, Cas still found it hard to tell. Still, he had seemed cross with him.

Before Cas had a chance to make things right with Dean, that woman had turned up. Bella. Cas had taken an immediate dislike to her, because of her confidence, her swagger, her ability to control every tiny part of her body with a thought, but most importantly the way Dean stopped looking at Cas the minute she walked into the room.

There had been a moment when Dean was holding him after Cas had fallen - literally - into his arms, that for a heart stopping second, Cas thought Dean was going to kiss him. His 'Dean is straight' mantra had gone straight out of the window. Then it had started again, and he had reminded Dean to help him up.

Dean had looked at him with a strange expression for the rest of the evening, even after the incident (as Cas would now refer to it). That was until Bella turned up, when Dean watched her with such lust he may as well have been drooling. Cas kept trying to remind himself that Dean was not gay, but he did not appreciate having his heterosexuality shoved in his face. So to speak.

Cas' phone buzzed from his nightstand. He rolled over and stared at it, without picking it up. Nobody ever text him. It was probably some stupid Facebook notification, reminding him about someone's birthday he had forgotten existed. He was only on Facebook so he could watch from a distance as Gabriel travelled the world, but he always felt too mean to say no when someone tried to 'friend' him. His phone buzzed again. Cas sighed and picked it up.

Message from: Unknown

'Hey U owe me lunch after last week and dropping me on2 floor. Free 2day?'

The second buzz had been a follow up message from the same person.

'Ps its Dean W. U prob new that coz how many other ppl have u dropped on floor recently :p'

Cas turned his phone on the side to decipher the smiley. Dean was poking his tongue out at him. Cas thought that he would like to see that in real life.

Against his sane side that was telling Cas he should see Dean as little as possible, he decided that lunch with Dean sounded like just the thing to brighten his day. And he did still need to apologize for dropping him on the floor.

He pressed reply on this phone.

 

"It is my day off today, and although I should be writing, my writer's block is still hampering my efforts. Lunch therefore sounds like a good distraction." Cas hit send, then pursed his lips, and added another message.

"PS it's Castiel :)"

He considered the smiley for a long second, but decided it was acceptable because Dean had sent one first. A response came in quickly.

"We'll tlk abt ur txt speak l8r. Pick me up @12?"

'Yes, alright. Where shall I collect you from?" Cas replied, typing laboriously on his phone. This is why he preferred to actually speak to someone. The final text from Dean was the address of a garage on the other side of town.

Cas checked his watch for the time. He only had 4 hours until he had to leave, and he had to shower, shave, brush his hair, and change his outfit at least four times. He had better get up.

***

Cas pulled into Winchester and Sons garage at five minutes to twelve. He had needed to google the location, and had been impressed with the business that Dean has built up, going from a normal business to a specialist in car restoration in the last five years.

Cas got out of the car and immediately spotted Dean, who was bent over a beautiful green mustang, black jeans pulled tight over his ass, bowed legs akimbo. Cas didn’t think he had ever seen a hotter sight. The urge to go over there and just, touch, was almost overwhelming. Cas put his hands firmly in the pockets of his trench coat.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. Just give me a minute.” Dean didn’t even look around, just carried on fishing around under the hood of the car, leaving Cas with a few more seconds to enjoy the view. Eventually, Dean stood up and turned, pulling a rag from his pocket and wiping his oily hands on it.

“Day off today?” Dean looked Cas up and down, clearly surprised by his casual dress. Cas had actually changed six times, debating between going for his usual suit pants and white shirt that Dean was used to seeing him in, or dark blue jeans and a casual light blue shirt with the arms folded to above his elbows. He went with the latter, but now wished he had not.

“Yes, I don’t open the shop on Mondays.”

“Must be nice not to get that Monday morning feeling.” Cas nodded.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Lemme just wash up. I hadn’t realized it was so late. Do you want to wait in my office?”

“Sure.” Cas said. Dean strode away and Cas followed into the small building next to the garage with its car lifts and spare tires.

“Just through that door.” Dean said, gesturing towards a door with a window and the words “The Boss” printed on it. “I won’t be long.”

Cas walked through the door, wondering who had put those words on the window - he was fairly sure it was not Dean. He sat in the worn leather chair behind a desk that was covered in piles of paper, and looked around the office. It was a dirty cream color, paint cracking in various places. Framed posters from car races across America covered much of the wall space.

Immediately behind the desk was a corkboard with three photographs pinned to it. One old photograph of Dean and his mom was obviously well-loved, and had been folded and refolded for many years before being pinned to the board. Another picture showed Dean and presumably his brother Sam, perched on the hood of the impala and toasting beer bottles. The final picture was Dean with his arms around a small boy of maybe five or six, with a dark haired woman leaning her chin on Dean’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist.

Cas’ heart sank. Maybe Dean was already in a serious relationship. It was with that thought that Cas realized that he had not yet managed to persuade himself that Dean was not a viable option. 

“Hey, Cas. Ready to go?” Dean walked through the door, and Cas did not manage to turn around quickly enough to not look like he was snooping at Dean’s belongings. Dean walked over to him and ran a soft finger over the picture of his mom.

“Your mother was beautiful, Dean.” The other man nodded. “Is that Sam?” Cas asked, gesturing to the picture of the two of them on the impala.

“Yeah, that’s my moose of a brother. I’m sure you’ll meet him at some point. He won’t miss the opportunity to come and watch me perform on stage and then rib me about it forever.”

“And who are those two?” Cas gestured towards the final picture, trying to sound normal and not consumed by jealousy. Dean gave him a strange look, so he was not sure he managed it.

“That’s my ex-girlfriend, Lisa, and her son, Ben. We were highschool sweethearts and got back together a few years ago, but it didn’t work out.”

“That’s a shame.” Cas said, trying not to sound pleased.

“Yeah. Ben and I were really close, and we were closer than Lisa and I in the end. I still keep in touch with him, babysit every now and then.”

“That’s nice of you.” Dean cleared his throat, clearly not liking the compliment.

“Anyway, enough of my old memories. Shall we go?” Cas stood up, and they left the office.

“Do you mind if I drive?” Dean said, and Cas shook his head, happy to be invited back into the impala again. They agreed to the same diner as the last time they went out, and were seated in the same booth, although it was a male waiter this time.

“Seeing as you’re paying, I think I’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu. It’s the least you can do after giving me concussion.” Dean was grinning widely as he said it, but Cas still felt guilty.

"How is your head? Did you go and get checked out?" Cas asked worriedly.

"Nah, it was only a little bump. I just felt dizzy for a few days." At Cas' horrified expression, Dean chuckled. "Ok, ok I'll stop teasing you. I felt fine afterwards. My brother’s wife checked me over because she's a nurse and my brother is a big girl about these things. She said I was fine." Cas covered his face and groaned at the thought of the story being told to Dean's family. He only pulled his hands away when the waiter returned to take their order.

"I'll have the house burger." Dean said. Cas decided not to question his choice when it was his bank account on the line.

"I'll have the gumbo." Cas said.

Dean grinned at him. They talked about Commedia while they waited for their food. Cas was surprised to find that Dean had done some research.

"I think I would kinda like to play one of the lovers," Dean said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Cas again wondered if Dean realized he was flirting.

"The challenge of acting in a mask sounds like it would be interesting." Cas said, choosing to bypass Dean's comment.

"Yeah, but I think 'acting' is going to be challenge enough with all of my face showing."

"It would be a shame to hide your face." Cas said, without really thinking about it. Dean blushed, and smiled at Cas shyly. Their food arrived, meaning neither man had to break the awkward silence that followed Cas' statement.

Cas dug into his gumbo eagerly, moaning softly to himself as the carnival of flavors tingled over his tongue. When he looked up after a couple of mouthfuls, Cas realized that Dean had not started his burger; he was too busy staring at Cas. Cas wiped a hand across his mouth self-consciously.

"Do I have something on my face?" He asked Dean. Dean shook his head, and picked up his burger without meeting Cas' eyes. Cas' thoughts ran over the last few minutes again and realized the moans he made may not have sounded completely innocent.

'You, Mr. Winchester, are not as straight as you think you are.' Cas thought to himself, finally allowing the idea that had been lingering in the back of his mind to surface into his consciousness. Hope immediately sprang into being again, as though a light had been turned back on. He tried not to let it get out of hand. Thinking of his own journey to accepting his sexuality, Dean could be on a long road and Cas was not sure if he was strong enough to support someone else through that when he was still on his own path to acceptance. Cas could be Dean’s friend though.

“So, that Bella is quite something.” Dean eventually said around a mouthful of burger.

“Yes, she really is something else.” A great big show off, with great legs. Cas thought to himself.

“Not really my type though.” Dean said, blatantly lying. Cas tilted his head.

“Are you sure? The puddle of drool you left behind could say otherwise. She looks a little bit like Lisa” Cas tried to sound teasing rather than jealous.

“Yeah, well.” Dean ate a fry, clearly trying to be casual. “Lisa was a long time ago. Tastes can change.”

Cas wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he chose not to say anything. They finished their food in silence, and Dean checked his watch.

“I really should be getting back to work.” He said, reluctantly. “Ash can usually cover most things, but I’ve got to set a good example, you know?”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas beckoned for the waiter who bought the bill. Cas left enough bills to cover with a tip, and they got up to leave.

They were quiet in the car on the way back to the garage, Cas kept glancing across at Dean and smiling gently, but missed Dean doing the same.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas closed the shop early on Wednesday, feeling pleased with the progress he had made on his novel. He had managed to write two thousand words, and the next couple of thousand were formulating in the back of his brain. As long as he didn’t think about them too much, at some point they would come out of his fingers into the keyboard of his laptop fully formed.

He walked into the school hall, looking forward to seeing Dean tonight. He found that Charlie had already placed chairs in two sections, facing each other with a kind of runway in between. On every chair was placed a white, full face mask, with eye holes and two small nose holes, but no other detail.

“They look a bit creepy.” Cas said, smiling at Charlie who was sat in one of the chairs, scribbling notes.

“Yeah it is some freaky V for Vendetta shit we’ve got going on in here tonight. Are you up for taking over the world?” She said, without looking up.

“Always.” Cas said. Charlie stood and stuffed the notes back into her rucksack and wandered over to where Cas was standing.

“On that subject, are you coming on Sunday, Knight of my Heart?” Cas nodded soberly. For the last year, he had attended Charlie’s monthly LARP session, and had been knighted by Charlie in her rightful position as Queen of Moondor a few months ago. Knight of the Queen’s Heart was essentially a ceremonial wing man, so he had two jobs, one - protect the Queen from all attempts, violent or magical, on her person, and two - find her dates with appropriate young ladies.

“Of course, My Queen. It will be an honor to serve.” He did a complicated salute / handshake that Charlie had taught him as part of his induction into her royal circle.

“Can I bring someone?” Cas asked. Charlie looked at him in surprise. He had never shown any interest in bringing anyone else before, what with Charlie basically being his only friend and all.

“Who is this special person that you want to introduce to the wonderful world of LARP?”

“I, I would like to see if Dean would like to attend with me.” Cas stuttered out, suddenly feeling like it might be a bad idea. Charlie nodded sagely.

“I had wondered if you liked him.”

“We’re just friends.” Charlie snorted.

“You think he’s hotter than the sun. And I have a gaydar too you know, and it definitely goes ping with Dean sometimes, however many times he protests that he’s straight.”Cas was glad that it was not just him that was sensing this with Dean; it made him think that perhaps he was not just projecting.

“Of course you may invite your new friend, my Knight. Perhaps I shall be the Queen of Your Heart for a change.”

“I think it’s a bit early for wing-woman interference, Charlie.” Cas said, doubtfully.

“It’s never too early for a wing-woman to get involved. And I don’t like the term interference. Meddling is much more fun.” Charlie clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. If there’s a trace of gay in Dean, we’ll find it. And if there isn’t, well, at least you’ve made a new friend and you’ll know for certain.” Cas nodded glumly, and went to pick a seat as the rest of the group began to wander in.

Dean sat down next to Cas and then pulled the mask from under his ass. It was now slightly squashed.

“Hey, Cas. What’s with the V for Vendetta masks?”

“Charlie also made that reference. I don’t understand it.”

“Well, it was a shit film but a good comic. It even has a couple of Shakespeare references in it; I’ll lend it to you.”

“I’d like that.” Cas smiled.

Once the rest of the group was in place (including Bella, Cas was displeased to notice), Charlie introduced the exercise for the session.

“You have all been given a neutral mask. The mask is a blank slate, with no expression, and it hides any expression from the wearer. When we wear the mask, our body language is magnified because the viewer has to take visual cues from something, and without facial expression, we become more focused on the body.”

“Some of us are already quite focused on the body.” Dean drawled from next to him, and Charlie chuckled.

“Yes, well. In today’s exercise at least you have an excuse to look at each other’s asses.” Charlie said, teasing and looking straight at Cas, who blushed immediately.

“The first thing we’re going to do is put the mask on, take a walk up and down this lovely cat walk. We’re going to pick an emotion, and try to express it in body language only, like this.” Charlie put her mask on. The effect was immediate and strange. She went from being a smiley red-head, whose face was such an open book even Cas could read it, to a neutral faced stranger. Charlie held herself differently in the mask, her shoulders dropped and palms opened, assuming a neutral standing position in line with the neutral mask she had put on.

Then she turned around a skipped up and down the runway between the two sets of chairs. Charlie went from being completely neutral, to being a happy child in a second, head tilting from side to side and arms swinging as she skipped. As she turned around and was facing Cas again, he shivered a little. It was very strange to see that movement with a completely white mask with no expression, like something out of a creepy horror movie.

Charlie came to a halt and pulled the mask off. “See? It’s freaky isn’t it. What emotion was I showing?”

“Joy”, “Childishness” “Happiness” were the calls from around the room. Charlie nodded.

“Bella, will you go next?” Charlie asked. Bella stood and put her mask on. Like Charlie, she put herself into a neutral position first, before she subtly changed her body language. Bella’s shoulders hunched and drooped. She folded her arms around herself, and seemed to fill less space in the room. When she moved, she was timid and slow, taking tiny steps and pausing to look around. She did a lap of the runway so slowly it was almost painful to watch.

Cas looked at Dean to see if he was still drooling over the newest member of the group. He was surprised to see that Dean was watching Bella intently, but there was sympathy in his gaze, rather than desire.

“What emotion was Bella showing?” Charlie asked when the other woman finally sat down again.

“Fear” Someone said.

“Anxiety”, Cas added, recognizing his own body language from immediately after the attack.

“Sadness,” Dean said from next to him. Charlie nodded again.

“As you can see, we can’t necessarily get to the right answer without some more information like behavior, language, or facial expression, but we can get pretty close just on body language. Now it’s your turn.”

Charlie started on the other side of the room and directed each person to put on their mask, pick an emotion and take a walk. Some people were outlandish and obvious – one of the women strode up and down flinging her hands out like she was throwing something, bouncing on her toes. When Charlie asked the group what emotion she was showing,

“Excitement – she was throwing confetti, it was a parade.” Cas called out dryly, with a completely straight face. Dean grinned at him, and Cas smirked back. The exercise continued, and Cas waited with nervous energy to speak to Dean at the end of the group. Fortunately, the exercise ran long so they did not all have time to walk the runway in the mask, and Charlie dismissed them with the promise that those who had not had the opportunity today would have their turn next week.

As they got their stuff together, Cas placed a hand on Dean’s arm.

“Are you free on Sunday, Dean?”

“Err, yeah, it’s my only day off.” Dean said. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, I go LARPing with Charlie sometimes, and i’m going on Sunday. I think you might enjoy it, wandering around with a sword and killing bad guys.”

Dean considered. “It does sound like fun. But if you ever tell Sam that i’ve been LARPing, I will kill you and nobody will ever find the body.” He smirked at Cas.

“Deal.” Cas put his hand out, and Dean shook it. 

“See you Sunday, then.” Dean said.

“See you.” Cas watched as Dean left the hall, then blushed as Dean looked back and waved at him.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean sat on the impala, parked in a field in the middle of nowhere. He had no idea what had possessed him to agree to come LARP’ing with Cas and Charlie. Despite his words to Cas, Dean had made the mistake of telling Sam about it at their weekly after session dinner, and he had a feeling he was not going to live it down for a while. The only thing Dean knew for sure was that he was not going to be wearing tights. Dean was trying to go into this with an open mind, sure that if serious, seemingly mentally-stable Castiel enjoyed it, he would too, but Dean drew the line at tights.

Dean drew in a deep breath and got out of the car. He walked over to a gap in the long fence which had a green sign on a pole shaped like an arrow, and ‘Moondoor’ painted on it in white paint and ‘ye olde’ font. Dean stepped through the gap in the fence and stopped, mouth dropping open.

In front of him was a medieval village. There were large tents, mainly black or beige but with the odd bright red or blue thrown in. Horses were tethered outside of some, and outside one there was an anvil with a small lady with very large arm muscles who was beating at a sword with a hammer, whilst a short man chewed on a nail as he waited for his sword to be returned to him. There was a strong smell of smoke and cooking meat in the air, and the clang of weapons, shouts of battle and people crying their wares met Dean’s ears.

Dean could not see Charlie or Cas anywhere, and he did not have much hope of finding them in amongst this rabble. He went to take a step backwards, when suddenly someone grabbed his arm.

“Dean, it’s me.” A figure in a long brown robe and a large hood hissed at him. 

“Charlie?”

“Yes, it’s me. I can’t walk around here unaccompanied without an escort unless I’m in disguise. I am the Queen, you know.”

“Yeah, err; Cas filled me in a bit.” 

“Great. I wanted to meet you so I could get your outfit sorted myself.”

“No tights.” Dean said immediately. Charlie sniggered at him quietly and started pulling his arm, dragging him with her as she walked along the fence, around the outskirts of the village rather than straight through it.

“Alright, no tights. Although, with your ass…”

“Charlie!” Dean exclaimed.

“Ssshhhhh” Charlie hissed at him. “I’m gay, not blind. Anyway. One of my ladies broke her leg at the last event, so she can’t be here today. You’re going to be one of my handmaidens today.”

“What? No! I am not wearing a dress either.” Dean stated.

“You don’t have to wear a dress. I have a plan for your outfit, don’t worry. It’s just a title. If you want to be part of the Queen’s court, you have to have a role, so that’s your part for the day.” Dean just grunted, not really sure that he wanted to be a part of the Queen’s court, but not convinced he was going to get out of Charlie’s iron grip.

Charlie finally came to a stop outside of a large beige tent, with a wooden sign outside painted with a large t-shirt and a sword across it. Charlie pulled aside the entrance and beckoned Dean inside. Dean ducked into the tent and looked around. There were piles of sacks with different painted signs above them. One was clearly a dress, another was an axe. Beyond that, Dean couldn’t be sure. Charlie immediately began digging through the sacks, pulling clothes from it and laying them over her arm.

When she was satisfied, she handed the pile over to Dean and looked at him.

“I’ve guessed the sizes, but I’m usually pretty good. There are no tights, and no skirts, although I was tempted to put you in a kilt.” Charlie looked at him expectantly. “Well? Get changed then.”

“Not with a girl watching me!”

“Fine.” Charlie turned around to face the tent flap. “I thought you were the big ladies man.”

“I don’t get naked in front of someone I’m not sleeping with.”

“Again, I like the ladies too; I’m not interested in what you got beneath your clothes.”

“Just don’t let anyone come in either, ok?” Dean stripped out of his normal clothes down to his boxers and began to put on what Charlie had handed to him. He was relieved to see there were normal trousers that he quickly pulled on in case Charlie changed her mind. They were dark brown, and a little too tight around the crotch, but he pulled on the forest green tunic to go over the top, which fell to his mid-thigh so he did not feel too exposed. Knee high worn leather boots and a weird chain mail neck protector completed the ensemble. Dean felt a bit weird, but surprisingly comfortable.

“You can turn around, Charlie.” Dean said. Charlie turned and squealed, clapping her hands.

“Perfect. Just a few accessories. Sword or bow?” Charlie walked over to the other side of the tent below the weapons signs and paused, waiting for Dean’s answer.

“I did a bit of archery at school,” Dean admitted begrudgingly. It hadn’t been the ‘cool’ thing to do, so he had kept it quiet, but he had been a fairly good shot by the end.

“Oooh, that was unexpected. I was expecting more of a phallus-y response.” Charlie almost sounded a little disappointed, but she dove into a bag and pulled out a wrist and finger guard set and threw them over. She picked up a recurve bow from where it leant against the tent wall and passed it carefully to Dean, followed by a quiver. Dean’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he saw the fletched arrows. Seeing his expression, Charlie pulled one of the arrows out and showed it to him. Instead of the metal tip, the arrow head was a large foam sphere, coated in a red powder that produced flecks into the dim beam of sunlight filtering into the tent. They would not do damage like a real arrow, but Dean bet it would still hurt to be hit by one, particularly with the power of the bow behind it.

“We’ve got a battle at the end of the day. Until then, it’s more for show so don’t go randomly shooting people.”

“Not even Cas?” Dean sniggered.

“If you want to shoot your load at Cas, go ahead. He’s a sword wielder though, so he might beat you with it afterwards.”

“Charlie!” Dean exclaimed, shocked that something so dirty had come out of the mouth of the small red-head. It didn’t occur to him to be offended by the insinuation.

They finally left the dingy tent, and Dean was finally allowed to walk through the village, although Charlie put her hood up again and they walked quickly. Finally, they reached an impressive looking large red and gold tent, with a crown carefully painted onto the wooden sign hung on a pole outside of the door. They stepped through the entrance, and Charlie immediately took off her brown robe, hanging it on an out of place coat stand. Dean finally got to see what Charlie was wearing, and was glad to see that it was not that different to him. She was wearing light brown trousers and a red, padded tunic with a wide belt. Underneath that she was wearing a long sleeved white top, and black leather gloves.

Suddenly the entrance to the tent was pulled aside. A guy with dark hair strode into the tent and went straight down on to one knee with his head bowed in a smooth motion Dean knew he would never pull off.

“Greetings, My Queen.” The guy said with a voice like gravel.

“Cas?” Dean asked, surprised. The guy didn’t look up. Charlie strode over to him and presented her hand. He looked up and kissed it gently. It was Cas, eyes somehow looking brighter when reflected from his deep blue tunic.

“Arise, Sir Knight.” Charlie said, and Cas stood, enabling Dean to see him in all of his costumed glory. Cas was wearing something Dean believed were called breeches, trousers that stopped mid-calf and led into black leather boots. They were very… tight. Cas’ tunic stopped at his waist, tied in place by a belt, meaning that everything below the belt was just there to be looked at. Dean realized he had been staring, and looked up at Cas to see if he had noticed. Cas was staring back at Dean, and their eyes met. Dean could see amusement in the other man’s gaze, and something else, a faint narrowing of the eyes and a slightly open mouth that made Dean feel as if he were a mouse, being sized up by an over-large owl. Whether he was being considered for dinner or something else, Dean was not quite sure. But he found that he liked it.

“Ok, ok, enough already.” Charlie shoved at Cas, who did not stop looking at Dean. “Cadulech, my Knight, you must have duties to attend to. Take my new handmaiden and go and have some UST somewhere else, ok?” Dean did not know what Charlie was talking about, but he followed Cas out of the tent anyway.

“Did Charlie just call you Cadulech? As in the angel out of your book” Dean asked as they walked back through the village again.

“We all choose aliases. It seemed appropriate.”

“You would choose something even more of a mouthful then your own name. I’m not calling you Cad.”

“You can continue to call me Cas. Some people prefer to remain anonymous here so they choose another name. It is a bit pointless when you already know who I am.”

“So, where are we going?”

“Target practice.” Cas said. They reached a small area defined by straw bales with archery targets set up at one end. “Show me what you can do.”

Dean smirked cockily and stepped into the practice area. Secretly, he hoped he could remember how to do this; it had been a long time. He stood side on and carefully selected an arrow from the quiver slung over his shoulder. He placed it carefully on the top of his fingers as they curled around the bow. He lifted the bow with that hand and pulled back the string with the other. He pulled too hard at first, and the arrow dropped from his grip onto the floor. Dean picked it up, flushing, and tried again. He managed to send the arrow flying this time, but only halfway to the targets because he got distracted halfway through drawing the string back.

“Did you choose the bow, or did Charlie give it to you?” Cas asked from the sidelines. Dean scowled at him.

“I chose it. I have done this before, but it was probably ten years ago. I just need a minute.” Dean said, grumpily. Cas stepped over the straw bales.

“Can I help?”

“I thought you were a swordsman.” Dean said. Of course, Cas would be good at everything, Dean thought to himself bitterly. Cas stepped into Dean’s personal space, and suddenly all rational thought went out of the window for Dean. Cas placed one hand over Dean’s on the bow, and passed him another arrow with the other. When Dean had placed the arrow into the bow, Cas placed his hand on the elbow of Dean’s drawing arm.

“Your body will remember, you just have to wait for your brain to catch up.” Cas said quietly into Dean’s ear. Dean shivered as Cas’ warm breath tickled against his neck. He was very aware of how close Cas was standing. They were not touching, except for the points where Cas had carefully placed his hands, but Dean could feel warmth all down his back and thighs as though body heat was radiating out from Castiel. It was very distracting, and Dean did not know whether to wish for Cas to step away or close the gap between them.

“Draw back your arm, Dean.” Cas said, and Dean realized he had just been standing there, thinking about closing the gap between the two of them. Cas guided his elbow back to his ear, and held it there.

“Aim with both eyes open.” Dean had let both eyes drift shut as another gust of breath tickled the back of his neck, but realized that would not be good for aiming, so opened them as wide as they could go. He aimed the arrow at the center of the target, remembering now the way to stand, and the way to hold his shoulders, relaxed and open. He took a deep breath in and out, automatically slipping into the breathing exercise that Charlie had taught him, and loosed the arrow. It flew strong and true this time, hitting the target just above the blue center point, leaving a red powder mark before dropping to the floor.

“Very good, Dean.” Cas said, and Dean could hear the smile in his voice, and wasn’t that weird, to be able to know that a guy was smiling just from the way his voice changed? Dean whirled around to see if he was right, and sure enough, Cas was grinning widely at him. And he was still really close, barely three inches away. Dean could grab him and close that distance.

If only your Dad could see you now. Dean’s brain whispered at him, viciously. Prancing about like a fairy in a tunic, playing at being a soldier while wanting to get close to another guy. He’d be ashamed, and would beat your ass from here to next week.

Something of Dean’s thoughts must have shown on his face, because Cas’ smile faded.

“Dean, are you ok?” Dean cleared his throat and nodded, unable to speak. He turned back to stand side on to the target again, and chose another arrow. He shot three arrows in quick succession, each one getting closer towards the center of the target, leaving a trail of red marks marching towards a bull’s eye. Cas had backed away, and was standing the other side of the hay bales again when Dean turned around. He was watching Dean with concern, and a little pride as his shots got better.

The repetitive movement and breathing exercises brought Dean back into focus again. Reminded him that his Dad was dead, beyond caring what (or who) Dean did, and could not hurt him anymore. Dean was just about to apologize, to ask Cas to come and help him again, or find any other excuse to get close again, when another man ran up to them.

He was dressed in much the same way as Cas, except his tunic was a lighter blue.

“Cadulech, the Queen is missing.” Castiel immediately stiffened, hands going to his belt, searching for a weapon that was not there. Dean walked over to the pair. The other man looked him up and down disdainfully.

“Who is this?”

“Malachi, this is…” Cas looked at Dean, tilting his head slightly. He was giving Dean the opportunity to pick who he wanted to be. Dean was tempted to pick some stupid name, but decided that he was happy being himself today.

“Dean.” He said, putting out his hand. Cas smiled at him. Malachi shook it briefly, but quickly turned his attention back to Cas.

“I went to find the Queen in her tent as she requested, but she was not there. I have searched her other usual haunts, but she is nowhere to be found. I fear that she has been taken.” Dean found Malachi’s way of speaking to be stranger even than Cas’, but he supposed it was all part of the character.

“Dammit, those dark fairies have been trying to find an opportunity to do something like this for months. We must find her. Assemble the others. Dean, you’re with me. We’ll scout ahead.” Malachi nodded, and went to stride away, but stopped and placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“Be safe, Cadulech. I will find you shortly.” The look he gave Cas lingered a little too long, and Dean thought that they were more than friends. A sharp spike of jealousy surged through him, leaving him hot and breathless. Dean could not believe he felt that so strongly. He knew that Cas was gay, had believed him to be single, but if he was dating another guy, that was none of Dean’s business. Particularly given that Dean was straight. Why would it matter if Cas was seeing someone else, it wasn’t as if Dean wanted to date him.

The memory of Cas falling into his arms and the desire to lean down and close their lips together crossed his mind, but Dean shoved it deep into the recesses of his thoughts as Cas was speaking again.

“Dean, we must go.” He said, hurriedly, and Dean realized this was not the first time Cas had tried to get him to move. Dean nodded, and Cas moved away, heading towards the nearest trees. Dean followed, starting to jog as Cas sped up. Soon, they were running through the trees. Dean was just starting to feel out of breath – he really did need to take up some form of exercise like Sam kept on at him about – when Cas came to an abrupt halt and put an arm out to stop Dean from running past him.

Cas crouched down slowly, dragging Dean with him. “There’s a guard over there at two o’ clock. There’s another one at 10 o’clock. Do you think you could hit the furthest one if I take out the closest one?” Cas breathed in Dean’s ear. Dean’s adrenaline immediately spiked, and he looked where Cas had indicated. He could only just see the two men standing in the shade, camouflaged amongst the trees, and he would not have seen them if he was still running. He eyed the distance and decided he could make the shot. He nodded sharply, and suddenly Cas was gone, melted into the trees.

Dean took a few deep breaths, and spied Cas creeping up to the closest guard. They made eye contact, and Cas nodded. Dean stood, raised his bow and quickly fired, hoping he could get the shot away before he was spotted. His shot hit the guard over the heart, leaving a vibrant red powder mark on the dark green jacket. The guard made a face and sat down hard amongst the fallen leaves, now dead in the game.

Dean looked for Cas and found that he had his sword held to the throat of the other guard, and was whispering urgently in his ear. The guard was muttering quietly back. At the end of their discussion, Cas’ guard slumped back against the tree and slid down it, a little over-dramatically for his taste, but at least both guards were ‘dead’, and they hadn’t raised any alarm. Cas beckoned to Dean who walked over to join him.

“We’re on the right path; the dark elves are holding the Queen just a bit further into the forest. We should wait for the others to join us and stage an attack.” Cas said, still speaking quietly.

“Or we could go now and keep all of the glory for ourselves” Dean said, starting to walk forwards.

“Dean!” Cas hissed. Dean ignored him and kept walking. Cas caught up with him before he had gone more than a few steps.

“This is a bad idea.” Cas said. Dean shrugged.

“It’s only a game, right?” Cas sighed, and nodded. They walked through a break in the trees into a copse with a large black tent in the middle of it. There was an immediate shout, and an arrow was fired in their direction.

“Cas!” Dean yelled, and jumped to push him out of the way. He slightly overestimated his strength and Cas ended up sprawled on the floor. Dean stood over him and fired an arrow in response, even if he could not see the target. Another arrow was fired at them, and Dean realized there was something strange about the angle. The arrow was coming from above. Dean scanned the trees above them, and spotted a lone archer, dressed all in black with a matching mask, nestled high in the branches. He quickly shot them, and they fell back against the branches as a red mark appeared on their stomach. Dean could hear them cursing from where he was.

“Er, Dean?” Cas said, and Dean realized he was now standing over Cas, straddling his legs and stopping him from getting up. He stepped away, flushing. “Can you give me a hand up?” Cas asked, holding out his arm. Dean entwined their hands together and hauled him up. Cas bumped into him when Dean pulled a bit too hard, and Dean huffed.

They walked carefully over to the tent, peering around them in case there were any more surprises. They listened outside the tent flap, but could hear nothing so Cas opened it carefully and Dean looked inside.

There was Charlie in the middle of the tent. There may not have been anything particularly queenly in her dress, but Charlie wore royalty like a cloak, and she was regal now, even as she was tied to a chair. She glared at the two members of her royal party.

“It took you long enough!” She whispered at them. “Come over here and untie me. I have a kingdom to run and a battle to plan to seek revenge for this dire kidnapping.” Cas rushed over and untied Charlie’s hands. They snuck out of the tent and walked back to the main village. They did not encounter any more guards or members of opposite factions, and Dean was starting to feel a bit suspicious, especially when Charlie claimed she did not recognize her kidnappers. However, Dean decided that he had enough to think about, like how good it had felt to have Cas pressed up against him, or how Dean had instantly stepped in to defend him from that archer.

Dean spent the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, and so missed the smug looks Charlie kept sending to Cas, and the timid smiles Cas was sending in response. At the end of the day, when they were all back in their normal clothes and about to split up, Dean hugged both Charlie and Cas.

“That was better than I thought it would be. Maybe I could come again?” Dean said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Sure, I’m always in need of more handmaidens.” Charlie said, sticking her tongue out at Dean. She waved her hand in a Vulcan salute. “See ya Wednesday. Peace out, bitches,” she strolled off towards her car.

Cas and Dean looked at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Dean decided to break the awkwardness by going in for a hug, and then remembered they had already done that, but it was too late by then. Dean pulled away after a few seconds feeling flustered.

“Right, got to go. See ya Wednesday, Cas.” Dean said, and walked quickly towards his car, desperately hoping it did not look like he was running away.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean stared down at the white mask in front of him. It was Wednesday again, so time for another therapy session. He could not believe his life had come to this - coloring in a mask with felt tip pens. For the first time in a few weeks, Dean was feeling rebellious and considering not completing an exercise. It was so pointless. They had to draw on the outside of the mask to show the feelings and thoughts they always showed to the world, and on the inside they had to draw the things they kept hidden.

He felt like writing ‘I am Dean Winchester’ on the outside of the mask and giving it back to Charlie. Before he started these sessions he had thought that he only had one layer, but as the weeks went on Dean has come to realize that, like Shrek, he was an onion with layers. Dean almost laughed out loud thinking about Donkey suggesting that he smelt like an onion. He and Sam had watched that film so many times growing up.

So, if Dean thought in those terms, what would be on the outside of his onion? He sucked the end of the felt tip pen for a minute, and then wrote ‘Dean Winchester’ on the forehead like he wanted to, but felt like Charlie would probably want him to go a little deeper. He wrote ‘Confidence’ on one cheek, and ‘swagger’ on the other. Those were the things that tended to get him laid at the end of a good night. Which led him on to ‘Womanizer’ and ‘Straight’ which he added next. He drew a little picture of the Impala across one cheekbone. That got him thinking about the picture in his office with Sam and him leaning on her bonnet, and added ‘brother’ to his mask.

He considered for a few moments and then added ‘good son’, because that had always been what he had strived to be until his Dad died and he didn’t have any parents left to want to be good for. The fact that he never seemed to be good enough for his Dad was a feeling that he tried never to show anyone, although Dean knew that Sammy was aware of how he felt. That should go on the inside.

Dean turned his mask over, and immediately wrote ‘not good enough’ across the forehead. He wasn’t good enough for John. He wasn’t happy enough or sane enough for Sam. He definitely wasn’t good enough for Castiel, who had found his true self years ago and embodied it now. He did not feel sad or angry about this, it was just fact.

Dean considered what else should go on the inside. What was on the inside layers of his onion? He wrote ‘shy’ underneath one of the eye sockets. Not many people realized that he could hold a surface level conversation with just about anyone, but only once he really got to know someone could he progress to anything beyond small talk. That was why this thing with Cas was so weird. He had barely known Cas before he had started talking about his Mom. It was also why he had not had a proper relationship with a woman in a long time.

Dean thought about this, about his developing feelings towards Cas that seemed to be edging out of the bounds of just friendship. On the inside of his head, and therefore on the inside of this mask, he could perhaps begin to acknowledge that he was not as straight as he would have originally believed. But he was nowhere near ready to write the word gay. Dean was not even sure he was gay. His recent attraction to Bella showed that he still liked women. But he liked Cas.

Dean had been round and round this circle in his head so many times, and he did not find the answer now. He did not know how to express it. He thought about what Charlie had said about drawing pictures if words proved to be too difficult. But drawing a cock with a question mark above it seemed a bit too literal. There had to be some symbolism he could use.

Dean turned the mask over and carefully drew a V underneath ‘womanizer’. He turned the mask back over and drew another V, then carefully added an upside V over the top, to form a star without the horizontal lines. That seemed symbolic enough, and was as far as he could go to define himself right now, even if this was supposed to be inside of his own head.

He thought about Sam again, and wrote his name on the left cheek. He was always thinking about his brother, even if he could not get on board with Sam’s chick flick moments. After a few more seconds of thought, he added John and Mary beneath Sam’s name. They were never far from his thoughts either. Dean added Ben to the list, and thought about adding Lisa but decided against it. Dean debated with himself and finally added Cas to the bottom of the fairly short list of people who occupied his thoughts. He stared at the three letters in his handwriting, wondering when was the last time he had not woken up and thought about Cas, and just how many times a day did someone have to think about someone else before realizing that maybe he did have feelings for them.

“How is it going, Dean?” Charlie asked from in front of him. She was standing a careful distance away and focussed over his shoulder so as not to seem like she was snooping in on what he was doing. She had been very careful to say that they did not have to share their masks with anyone, not even her, unless they wanted too.

“I’m almost finished.” Dean said, realizing he had a few more things he wanted to add, even if he had originally not thought he had anything to write down. Charlie smiled at him, and nodded once, before moving on to the next person.

Dean thought about why he was here. He wrote ‘angry’ above the right eye of the mask, and shaded in around the eye to make it look like it was bruised. That was for the guy that he had punched so that he ended up here. But if Dean was being honest with himself (and it appeared he was tonight, for the first time in a very long time), it was also the black eye that his Dad had given him when he lashed out after a few too many whiskies. He wrote ‘AT MY DAD’ underneath the word angry. Then decided that wasn’t a long enough list, and added ‘at the world’, then in tiny letters, as if he couldn’t bring himself to write it down, he wrote: ‘at my mom for dying’. Finally, he wrote in letters as big as he could make them: ‘AT MYSELF’.

Underneath the other eye he drew a single tear, like those creepy ass white faced clowns that Sam hated so much. Next to it, he wrote ‘grief’. He had only allowed himself one tear at his Dad’s funeral, then he had to go back to being strong for Sam, and dealing with everything, getting the body cremated, collecting the ashes, and sorting out the business. His grief for his Dad, and even for his mom, bubbled under the surface like a constant ache, but he never allowed it to show on his outside face.

Dean considered his mask again, carefully looking at both sides and thinking about whether he had missed anything. The exercise had been surprisingly calming. He had been able to think about the emotions without having them overwhelm him, which was what usually happened. Normally he would solve that by reaching for the nearest bottle of whiskey, but he didn’t think he needed that right now.

Finally done, he looked round the room to see what Cas was up to. He smiled to himself at the sight of Cas pouring over his mask, one arm curled protectively around one side to stop anyone else from looking too closely. He appeared to be coloring fiercely, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, although Dean could not see what he was drawing. He was surrounded by different colored marker pens, and looked very cute.

Cas looked up and saw that Dean was watching him. He picked up his mask and came over to Dean, plonking himself on the floor beside him.

"Hey, Cas. How's the coloring going? It's like being back in kindergarten."

"I'm finding it quite cathartic actually," Cas said. "Do you want to see?" Dean nodded. He really did want to see what Cas had been doing, but he thought of the list of names on the inside of his mask, and the things that he had written and as much as he wanted to see Cas', he did really did not want to show his mask.

Unaware of Dean's inner turmoil, Cas shoved his mask into Dean's hands. The front of it was mostly covered in a large rainbow, over one eye and cheek like a Bowie album cover. On the other side, in Cas' looping handwriting were the words: 'shop owner' 'brother' 'in therapy' 'likes cats and bees.'

"Have a look at the back if you like." Dean turned the mask over in his hands, feeling worse by the second, here was Cas sharing his innermost thoughts, and he was not yet ready to do the same.

The back of the mask was stark in black and white, especially when compared to the rainbowed front. There were harsh, ugly words, printed in bold, scattered seemingly at random, but looking like bruises across the face.

'VICTIM' 'ANXIETY' 'CANT GO OUTSIDE' 'FEAR' 'DISOWNED' 'GRIEF' 'GAY BASHING' 'MUST HIDE WHO I AM' 'WRITER' 'PUBLISHED AUTHOR'

Dean's eye had been caught by the black, but as he looked longer, Dean realized there were smaller words in a light yellow, placed here and there like the first hint of snowdrops in spring time. Words that showed that maybe some hope had entered into the stark dark thoughts.

'Cadulech' 'LARP' 'Drama Therapy' 'Charlie' 'Friends' 'Dean'

Dean looked at Cas who was looking at his hands studiously.

"My name is on your mask, Cas." Cas wouldn't look at him.

"I know, Dean. Would you share your mask with me? You don't have to, of course." Cas' tone was neutral as he asked the question, as if he did not care what the answer was, but Dean's stomach still clenched. There was nothing on Cas' mask that compared to his deep dark secrets and feelings, he just could not share it.

"Hey, look at Dean and Cas swapping masks." Came the voice of Alistair behind them. "I bet they’re swapping bodily fluids as well." Dean stiffened immediately.

"Ignore him, Dean." Cas whispered.

"Hey, Dean, aren't you going to show Cas your mask? Did you draw rainbows and cocks on yours too?" The comment hit too close to home, and Dean stood, sending Cas' mask crashing to the floor. He whirled round to look at Alastair.

"It's none of your business what I do, or who I share my bodily fluids with" Dean was shaking with the desire to go and smash Alastair’s face in, but he held himself back, not wanting to disappoint Charlie or Cas.

"So you are fucking him then. Are you the top or the bottom? I bet you’re the bottom. You look like the taking kind, Your Daddy must be so proud." Somehow, Alistair knew exactly what to say to push all of Dean's buttons. He went to stride forward, now so filled with the desire to punch, to hurt, to destroy, that he had no room for anything else. Until he realized that he could not go anywhere because Cas had hold of his arm.

"It's not worth it, Dean."

"Get off me, Cas."

"No, Dean, just leave it."

"I said, get off me Castiel." Dean wrenched one arm from Cas' grip, and pushed with the other. Cas unbalanced and fell to the floor in a huff, not managing to stop his fall and landing hard. All of the anger immediately drained from Dean, and with all of the fight gone, his only option was flight. He ran from the room, ignoring Cas and Charlie's calls. He ran to the impala, not stopping until he was sat in the driver's seat, panting hard and shaking from adrenaline that had nowhere to go. He realized he was still clutching his stupid mask, and he threw it into the backseat, not wanting to look at it or think about it anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

“Dean, wait.” Cas called, uselessly, from his position on the floor. He got up slowly, knowing that he would never catch Dean, he could be halfway to anywhere by now. He rubbed his ass, sure he was going to have a bruise tomorrow, and seriously considered punching Alastair himself. With one homophobic comment, he had undone all of the careful work Cas had been doing in getting Dean to be more accepting of himself. Cas had seen the doors slam shut in Dean’s eyes at the mention of Dean’s father, suspected that Dean’s inability to accept that he might be something other than straight might be due to him.

Fortunately, Charlie got there before Cas reached a final decision about hitting Alastair.

“You, out.” She said, pointing to Alastair, and then pointing at the door. “I’ve warned you before that we are creating a safe space here, and there is no room for homophobia or personal attacks in my sessions.” Alastair stood up and loomed over Charlie.

“You can’t make me leave. Aren’t you under a Hippocratic oath to help me or something?”

“I’m not a doctor; I can include or exclude whomever I wish from my sessions.” Charlie said, clearly not cowed. Cas could see something of the queen of Moondor in her manner. “I won’t ask a third time. Leave, now.” Cas stepped forward to stand at Charlie’s right shoulder, in what he hoped was a slightly menacing manner. Bella stepped to her left shoulder, showing her support. Alistair looked round the room, clearly hoping for some support of his own, and then shrugged his shoulders when nobody came to his aid.

“Well, I can tell when I’m not wanted. I guess you’ll have to find a new villain for your little play.” Alistair said, and walked out of the room without looking back.

Everyone left seemed to breathe a sigh of relief with him gone, and the atmosphere lightened significantly. Charlie seemed to sag as she let go of her queenly manner.

“I know it’s unprofessional, but thank fuck for that.” Charlie said loudly. Giggles with a tinge of hysteria rolled around the room. “I think that’s enough for today. Live long and prosper, and be kind to each other.” Immediately everyone began to file out of the room, glad to leave after the confrontation. Most were clutching their newly drawn on masks, which reminded Cas that his was still on the floor. He retrieved it, and looked down at it sadly, recalling the soft smile that Dean had given when he had realized that Cas had written his name from his innermost thoughts.

“Dean will come round, Cas. Don’t give up on him yet.” Charlie murmured, rubbing his arm soothingly.

“I don’t want to push him into something he doesn’t want.” Cas said sadly.

“I know, but I really do think he’s the Han to your Leia, the Kirk to your Spock. He’s your lobster. You’ve just got to give him time, and I’m sure he’ll make a gesture that shows you how he feels.” Charlie pulled Cas into a hug, which Cas gladly returned, even if he had not understood any of the references Charlie just made.

“I guess I’d better go home.” Cas mumbled into Charlie’s shoulder.

“Will you be ok?”

“Of course.” Cas said, although he was not entirely sure. He left Charlie with Bella to help her clear up and headed home. Cas fumbled with his keys in the dark on his doorstep, not really able to see anything. He opened the door and switched on the light, nearly standing on a white oval that had been propped against his front door, but had now fallen across the threshold. Cas picked it up and stared.

The words ‘Dean Winchester’ were scrawled across the forehead of the white mask. Cas looked back out of the front door quickly, half expecting Dean to pop out of the shadows, but there was no-one there. Dean had seemed so reluctant to share his mask with Cas in the session, but he had left it for Cas to find when he got home. Cas’ breathing sped up as he considered what this might mean. He shut the front door and rushed to the sofa, throwing lights on as he went so that he would be able to see what Dean had written.

He looked at the rest front of the mask and felt his heart sink, the words ‘womanizer’ and ‘swagger’ rattling around his head. Was this Dean’s way of saying he was completely straight, completely not interested, and telling Cas to back off?

Cas turned the mask over without really thinking about it, and looked without seeing. Then Cas realized he was looking at his own name, and his heart soared. He was on a list of people that contained Dean’s family and his surrogate son. On the other cheek was a symbol that looked a bit like a star, but Cas knew what it represented. The V was for women, but the ^ was for men. Could it be possible that Dean was beginning to acknowledge to himself that he was bisexual?

Cas sat and looked at the rest of Dean’s mask, but there was nothing there that shocked him. The black eye that Dean had given himself hurt, it upset Cas to know that Dean thought that he was bruised and battered on the inside, just like Cas did, when all Cas could see was a golden light in a good man. He recognized the grief in the anger and the single tear, could match it with the words he had written in his mask.

Cas searched around for his phone, and composed a text.

‘Thank you for sharing your mask with me. I am sorry for the way Alistair treated you. Let me know if you need to talk.’

Cas considered for a long moment, but finally added, ‘I will always be here for you, Dean.’ Cas sent the text and then sat staring at his phone, waiting for a reply he was not sure was going to come.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

‘I need you, Cas.’ Cas stared at the text, not sure he was reading it correctly.

‘Where are you?’ He replied. Dean’s response was a string of numbers, and it took Cas a few seconds to work out they were coordinates. He put them into google maps, grabbed his keys and was out of the door again.

He drove to the location that Dean had invited him to, and wondered if Dean was luring him out into the middle of nowhere to kill him as the town got further and further behind him. He eventually stopped outside of the gate to a large field as his GPS told him he had arrived. Cas got out of the car and walked up to the gate. He could see a dark shape in the middle of the field that he assumed was Dean’s car. Cas walked towards it, and the dark form of the impala became clearer. When he got close enough, Cas could see Dean was lying back on the hood of his car, staring at the stars.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas said quietly.

“Hey, Cas. There’s beer in the cooler if you want to join me.” Cas plucked out a beer and hopped onto the other side of the hood, carefully not touching Dean. He looked up to admire the stars.

“The road was lit with moon and star, the trees were bright and still, descried I - by the distant light, a traveler on a hill, to magic perpendiculars, ascending, though terrene, unknown his shimmering ultimate, but he indorsed the sheen.” Castiel quoted softly, feeling like he needed to say something but having no words of his own, he decided to borrow some. Dean did not move or look at him, but Cas thought he saw a little tension leave Dean’s body.

“Do you know any more?” Dean asked. Cas thought for a moment.

“When the shy star goes forth in heaven, all maidenly, disconsolate, hear you amid the drowsy even, one who is singing by your gate. His song is softer than the dew, And he is come to visit you. O bend no more in reverie, when he at eventide is calling. Nor muse: Who may this singer be  
whose song about my heart is falling? Know you by this, the lover's chant, ‘tis I that am your visitant.”

They were both quiet for a long moment after Cas finished reciting the poem. Finally Dean spoke, hesitantly, clearing his throat before he finally got going.

“Stairway to the stars, I think I'll write good health to you. Stairway to the stars, we got better things to do. You can have my autograph, I think I'll sign it good health to you. Upon the cast, your broken arm.” Dean was quiet again for a long moment. “Are you ok, Cas? I didn’t mean to push you like that. Did I hurt you?” The self-loathing Dean was feeling was evident in his tone.

“I’m fine, Dean. I think I hurt you more when I dropped you in the trust exercise.” Dean huffed, laughing a little.

“That’s true. Are we even then?”

“Yes, Dean. I think we should both try not to hurt each other anymore.” Cas realized the double meaning that could be read into his words, and blushed, grateful that Dean would not notice in the dark. Cas took a long gulp of his beer.

“Is there… anything you want to… ask or say about the mask?” Dean said, stuttering.

“It made me very happy that you shared it with me, and it is nice to know that we are in each other’s thoughts.” Cas said neutrally. He did have questions, but he thought it was best for Dean to volunteer details about his parents in his own time, when he was ready.

“Is that it?” Dean said.

“Yes.” Cas said, with finality. “Do you have anything to say about mine?”

“No, Cas. You’re a nice person, what could there be to say?”

“You are a good person too; you just have to come to realize it.” Dean shook his head in denial and looked back to the stars again.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Cas felt a brush against his hand. He kept very still and continued to look at the stars. Warm fingers curled around his, holding on tight. Cas did not move, did not comment, as if Dean was an animal he was trying not to scare away. Eventually, Dean moved away and stretched.

“It’s getting late. Don’t you have to open the shop in the morning?”

“If you’re ready to go, then we’ll go. If not, sitting and looking at the stars is worth a few extra yawns in the morning.” You are worth being tired for, Cas thought to himself, but did not want to scare Dean by saying.

“Well, I’ve got to go to work tomorrow too, so we should go.”

They said goodbye, and Cas walked to his car. He wanted to hug Dean goodbye, to tell him that everything would be ok, but he did not want to push. On the drive back, the words of the poem were on repeat in this thoughts; ‘Who may this singer be whose song about my heart is falling... ‘tis I that am your visitant.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems Castiel quotes are:  
> When The Shy Star Goes Forth In Heaven - James Joyce  
> The Road was lit with Moon and star— by Emily Dickinson 
> 
> Dean quotes Stairway to the Stars by Blue Oyster Cult


	12. Chapter 12

The next few weeks passed by quickly for Dean. The garage was busy, word was getting around about their specialism in classic cars, and he was starting to build up a waiting list. Therapy sessions seemed easier without Alistair there making sarcastic comments. Charlie had been cold with him for a couple of weeks after he had pushed Cas, but Dean guessed that Cas had spoken to her as she spent the whole of one session persuading him to come back to Moondor again. That month the LARP had been on a Saturday, so he could not go because he was too busy at the garage. He had not missed the disappointment from both Charlie and Castiel.

Cas. Castiel. Dean’s feelings for Castiel continued to grow, until the point that Dean could not repress them anymore. That night on the hood of his baby, underneath the stars, with Cas reciting poetry to him, it may have been a cliché, a moment right out of a rom-com, but Dean would have happily stayed in that moment forever. He had replayed it in his mind many times since then, and every time he felt a longing so strong, it filled him from his heart to his toes.

Seeing Cas was becoming unbearable, but at the same time he would have fought anyone who tried to take that away from him. They saw each other at therapy of course, but they had also met up for lunch and coffee on numerous occasions. They had not touched since Dean had crossed the invisible line on the hood of the impala and taken Cas’ hand, and it had taken every bit of courage Dean had to make that move.

Cas had not pulled away, but he had not acknowledged it either. Dean had not been able to make himself do anything more since. He kept hoping that Cas would do something, take his hand, or give him a hug, or something, but he did not. The tiny, logical part of him was aware that Cas probably did not want to push or was just as unsure about Dean’s sexuality as Dean was, but the much bigger part of him was convinced that it must be because Cas was not interested in Dean as anything more than a friend. And who would blame him - Dean was fucked up, with his anger issues and his screwed up family.

Therapy was helping Dean to deal with some of his issues, which amazed him really, given that he was only going because he had to - Dean had not expected it to actually help. One exercise in particular seemed to have finally lifted the lid on the pressure cooker that was his feelings about his parents. Charlie had asked them to write a letter to someone where there were still things to say, but they had no way of telling them those things. Dean had written letters to both his dad and his mom. The letter to his dad had been full of angry words, telling him what a crappy father he had been and that if he ever got a chance to be a daddy, he would not make the same mistakes his dad did, and would never lay a hand on his child no matter what they did.

The letter to his Mom was harder to write, but meant more. Dean wrote a summary of everything she had missed in his and Sam’s lives, leaving out the bad bits around his Dad. Dean wrote about meeting Cas and how it was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. He wrote about his confusion over his sexuality, because he thought that if his mom was still around they would have the type of relationship where he would tell her everything and she would give him good advice without being judgmental.

Dean came to the realization that his father might have been a homophobic bastard, but he was 100% sure that if his mom was alive she would not care about who he loved. She would just have been happy that he was happy, he was in love, and he was loved in return. That thought warmed him for a long time, but it was not quite enough to make him do anything about Cas.

Alongside the therapy exercises, rehearsals for the play were continuing. Dean learned his lines, with a bit of help from Cas. The waitress of the diner they always visited for lunch had come to know them by name, and would sometimes play one of the other parts as they practiced their scenes.

The first time Cas had put on his Commedia mask and become his character, Dean had freaked out because he suddenly did not look like Cas, did not stand or move like the man he knew. Only Cas’ eyes were the same, and they were unmistakable, seeming somehow brighter with the rest of the top half of his face obscured. And Cas’ mouth was still visible of course, but Dean tried really hard not to think about Cas’ mouth.

They were performing the play in the school auditorium, and the first time Dean had walked out on stage and looked out into the audience, he had thought he was going to be sick, and that was with no-one sat there. He was not sure how he was going to react when not only would there be people in the seats, but Sam and Jess would be out there too. But despite his reservations, all too soon it was dress rehearsal, tech rehearsal and then opening night of the play.

There were more people in the group than there were characters in the play, so Charlie had formed two casts. Dean and Cas were in the second cast so would be performing on night two. On the first night they were back stage supporting the actors, helping with costume or mask changes, pulling back the curtains and generally running around trying not to get in the way. Halfway through act two, they had done everything they needed to do, and would not be needed again until the end. Dean had intended to sneak into the auditorium and watch the last thirty minutes from the front, but he could not find Cas.

Behind the stage, there were a set of dark curtains and a wide passageway to allow people to cross to the other side of the stage. That is where Dean found Cas, sat cross legged with his palms laid on top of his knees as if he were meditating. His eyes were open and he was doing the deep breathing exercises from group. Cas looked so peaceful, Dean thought about leaving him and going into the auditorium by himself.

Dean thought about his mom and what she would say, and he was sure that she would tell him to man up and go over there, so that is what he did. He crept towards Cas, making as little noise as possible in case he could be heard on stage. He could not talk to Cas for the same reason, so Dean sat down in front of him without saying anything. He mirrored Cas’ position and sat with his legs crossed. He shuffled forward until their knees were touching, and met Cas’ eyes. There was something powerful in not being able to talk, in sitting so close that everything was reduced to body language and eye contact. Cas smiled at him.

Dean placed his hands onto Cas’, that suddenly seemed like they had been placed there waiting for him. Cas intertwined their fingers and pressed their knees infinitesimally closer together. Dean could see warmth and a little longing in Cas’ eyes. He was finally able to acknowledge to himself that perhaps Cas wanted more than friendship, and perhaps Dean was ok with that.

Dean leant forward and rested his forehead against Cas’, who leant forward just a little. They stayed like that, neither sure whether to move to take more, just creating a bubble for themselves. Cas was still breathing deeply; counting his breaths, whereas Dean’s breathing had sped up, half in fear and half in anticipation, so he breathed out as Cas breathed in, until they were circulating air between them. Dean’s eyes drifted closed until he lost all sense of self, except for at the three points of contact between him and Cas, and the breath they were sharing.

It was more intense, more intimate, than some of the sex that Dean had experienced, and he was surprised to find he was half hard, just from breathing, and being together. It was partly the anticipation, the feeling that he could jump off the cliff, could lean forward and touch their mouths together, but it was also the knowledge that Cas was right there with him, he would catch him if he did jump, and he would reciprocate anything that Dean chose to do.

Dean did not close the distance. He could not do that somewhere other people might interrupt. Dean was starting to accept that his sexuality was more fluid than he had thought. He was even ready to let Cas know that, and might soon be ready to tell Sam. Outside of that, he could not completely destroy the mask that he had built up without losing himself in the process. So, Dean did not kiss Cas, as much as he wanted too, and Cas did not move forward either, seemingly content to just sit and be close.

Eventually, applause indicated that the play was over. Dean let go of Cas’ hands reluctantly, and stood slowly before helping Cas to his feet. Dean pulled Cas into a long hug.

“It’s our turn tomorrow, Cas.” Dean whispered into Cas' ear. He was not quite sure if he was talking about the play or something else, but he walked away before Cas had a chance to say anything in return.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, Dean walked into the dressing room that he and Cas were sharing. He thought that Charlie knew that there was something more than friendship developing between he and Cas, and putting them in the same room was her way of meddling. Dean was not sure whether to be annoyed or pleased by the interference, so he chose not to think about it instead. He looked around the dressing room. 

There were mirrors with lights around them just like in the movies. A countertop ran underneath the mirrors, with two piles of clothes neatly folded on top of it. Cas’ pile of clothes had a mask laid across it, looking creepily empty. Dean stared at it for a second, imagining blue eyes peering out at him through the mask, but then got freaked out by the idea that it was watching him from across the room, so he turned his back and picked up his own costume.

Dean had nearly walked out of the group and never come back the first time that Charlie handed him his costume. It was worse than his LARP costume, and he was sure that this was Charlie getting revenge for pushing Cas over. They were supposed to be representing Medieval Italy, so Dean’s costume was a red tunic with puffy sleeves slashed with white, weird shorts that puffed out like sails, and long white socks that stopped under the shorts to make it look like he was wearing tights. Dean was glad that Charlie had remembered his refusal to wear tights at least.

The first time that he had tried it on and seen himself in the mirror, Dean had not come out of the bathroom for half an hour. He had needed to be talked out by Castiel, who put his costume on in solidarity, hoping to tempt Dean out by showing they could look ridiculous together. It had been a good idea, but Cas looked unfairly hot in his. Charlie had put him in a skin tight bodysuit painted with red, blue and gold diamonds. Cas should have looked absurd, but it was tight in all the right places, and gave Dean all sorts of ideas.

After his ‘little meltdown’ as Charlie liked to refer to it, Dean had promised her that it would not happen again. Dean promised that he would not turn up on stage dressed in his usual jeans, t-shirt and boots, but would wear the costume she had carefully picked out for him. So, Dean stripped off his normal clothes and began to put on the costume. He was just pulling the tunic over his head when there was a knock on the door. “Just a minute,” Dean called, slightly muffled by the fabric. When he was dressed, Dean pulled open the door. Cas was standing there looking awkward and embarrassed.

“I didn’t want to just barge in.” Dean grinned and held the door open, beckoning Cas inside.

“You’d better get dressed quick so I don’t feel like such an idiot.”

“I’m feeling a bit sick. I think that I need to meditate for a bit first.” Now that Cas mentioned it, he was looking a bit green around the edges. Cas noticed Dean watching him, concerned. “I’m ok, it’s just stage fright. Happens every time.”

“And yet you keep going to Charlie’s group.”

“Yes, I enjoy it when I am out there, and the buzz afterwards is like little else, but I hate the bit before.”

Cas pulled himself up onto the counter, sitting cross-legged without unbalancing. He placed his hands palm up and shut his eyes. Dean pulled himself up on the counter on the other side of the room so that he could watch Cas. He could see him purposefully relax each part of his body until Cas was in a completely relaxed state. Dean considered doing the same, but he was too keyed up at the thought that he was going on stage in an hour, and being distracted by memories from the night before. Dean thought about how it had felt to hold Cas’ hands and be connected by pressure points. The desire that Dean had felt to close the distance returned with force.

“I’ve never kissed a guy,” Dean blurted out, words coming out of his mouth before his brain could intervene and stop them. Cas cracked one eye open and looked at him, before he shut it again.

“Is that something you would like to do?” Cas asked with a completely neutral expression. Dean considered, trying hard not to just say more things accidentally.

“I’ve never been interested before. Well, except maybe Dr Sexy. And Captain Kirk. And maybe a couple of guys when I’ve been really drunk. But I never consciously wanted to do anything about it. Until I met you. And then I feel like I’ve treated you so badly that you would never want to be with me, and I’m really messed up, so I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to be a million miles away.” Dean realized he was still talking, and shut his mouth with an audible click.

Cas opened his eyes and focused on Dean in that way that he had of excluding everything else from his attention except the one thing he currently wanted to see. “So, you’ve never kissed a guy. We could always change that. If you wanted.”

Dean nodded eagerly, then blushed when he realized that his usual ‘play it cool’ act had completely gone out of the window with Cas. Cas jumped down lithely from his perch and slowly crossed the room, eyes boring into Dean’s. He paused just in front of Dean’s knees, too far away for Dean to reach, and Dean let out a tiny whimper that he would deny until his dying day. Cas’ eyes crinkled as he gave a soft smile and took the final step to stand between Dean’s knees. He lifted his hands up and ran them through the hair at Dean’s temples, before smoothing them down Dean’s face and ending at his cheeks. Cas pulled Dean’s face down towards him, reaching up as well to close the distance. He paused again, lips millimeters away, waiting.

Dean realized that Cas wanted Dean to be the one to close the gap, was still giving Dean time to change his mind, to pull away. Dean closed the distance without thinking, without second guessing or wondering what anyone else would think. Dean thought only of how much he had wanted this, for days now (or weeks if he was being honest). Then his lips were touching Cas’. All thoughts fled and only feelings remained.

It started out soft, the lightest touch, with Cas’ hands still on Dean’s face in a careful caress. Then Dean tilted his head and there was the slight rasp of stubble against stubble. Dean whined quietly at this new experience, so used to soft skin against his, but it was really hot. Dean wrapped his legs around Cas’ waist to pull him closer and deepened the kiss. Cas moaned and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, standing on his toes to get even closer. Cas’ tongue flickered out and traced Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean welcomed it with his own before shifting forward to capture it in his mouth.

Dean slid forward off the counter, crowding into Cas’ space and grazing their hips together as he moved to stand, causing them both to take in a sharp breath. Feeling the bulge in Cas’ jeans brush against his in the thin shorts he was wearing was like a jolt of electricity, and Dean wondered how he had ever been worried about this.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. “Fifteen minute warning boys.” Charlie said through the door. Cas growled and broke away.

“Ok, Charlie, we’ll be out in a minute.” It was at that moment that Dean realized that Cas was a pretty good actor. Despite having a good case of sex hair and thoroughly kissed lips, his voice was as steady and calm as if he had been reading a novel. Dean stepped into Cas’ space and kissed him again.

“You should sound more affected than that.” Dean growled, his own voice having dropped at least three octaves. Cas pushed Dean back gently, and then leant in for a brief kiss that had Dean chasing his lips for more.

“Believe me, Dean. I would like nothing more than to carry on with this and see what happens, but I need to get changed, and probably need some time - or some ice - before I can do that. To make sure we can both step on that stage and not shock the entire audience, I’m going to need you to leave the room and wait outside for me. Can you do that?” Dean pouted a little but did have to concede that the whole audience did not need to see him with a boner, so five minutes apart to calm down would probably be a good thing. Dean nodded and gave Cas one last fleeting kiss - now that he had opened the floodgates he could not help it - before he left the room.

Dean let the door shut behind him. He leant with his back to the wall and knocked his head back. He was such an idiot. He could have been having this with Cas for weeks if he was not such a coward. At least he could have it now. Dean was thinking about what could happen after the play when they got back to the dressing room, but remembered that he was supposed to be calming things down, not helping them stay up. He ran through his litany of Things Which Calm Little Dean Down (Sandwiches, types of pie, Sam in drag), which worked as long as Dean did not let his thoughts wander back to Cas.

Dean was doing ok until Cas opened the door to the dressing room and stepped out in his costume. Dean did not think it was fair that Cas’ costume was cooler than his. Cas was also wearing his mask, which did not seem to hide his face so much this time. His lips still looked like they had just spent the last few minutes being thoroughly kissed by Dean, and the look in his eyes was the happiest Dean thought he had ever seen on the other man.

“Ready for this?” Cas asked.

“Not even a little bit.” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

All in all, Dean’s acting debut did not go too badly. He remembered all of his lines and cues, and people seemed to laugh in all of the right places. Dean was even sure he could pick out Sam’s moose-laugh, although the stage lights were too bright for him to see anything further then the first couple of rows of the audience. He could definitely hear him whooping as they took their final bows. Dean had managed to work his way up the line so that he was standing next to Cas as the whole cast held hands and bowed together. He grinned at Cas who smirked back. Cas was right about the buzz, Dean felt amazing, like he could take on the world.

The whole group tumbled off stage, laughing, staggering about as if they had spent the last hour and a half drinking rather than acting. There were many hugs and back slaps, and then some of the families began to appear backstage, leading to even more shouts, giggles and hugs. Dean saw Sam and Jess in the crowd and fought his way over to them.

Sam immediately wrapped his arms around Dean's head, holding on for dear life until Dean had to resort to punching him lightly in the side to make him let go so he could breathe. Jess rolled her eyes and muttered "boys", before she kissed Dean on the cheek.

"I really enjoyed that, Dean. And you were great!"

"Yeah, Dean. You look like a prat, but you can act! Who knew?" Sam said, still running his side like a big girl. Dean punched him on his other side in revenge.

"I'm going to get Becky to sign you up to another six months; this anger therapy is clearly not working." Sam said, now rubbing both sides.

"It's working just fine because you're nose isn't bleeding." Dean said. "I'm... Erm... I'm thinking about doing another six months anyway." Dean rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled, not meeting either Sam or Jess' eyes, prepared to be mercilessly mocked. He was surprised by a pair of arms wrapping around him.

"That's great, Dean." Jess whispered in his ear. "If it's helping you, that's really great." Dean looked over at Sam, who grinned at him and nodded encouragingly. Dean suddenly noticed movement behind Sam. Cas seemed to be trying to hide himself away in the curtains, which was not very successful given that he was dressed in a jump suit with brightly colored diamonds on it. He was still wearing his mask too, which was a bit weird but hot.

Dean remembered that Cas would not have had any family in the audience, and it must be hard to see everyone else being congratulated by their loved ones and not have anyone. Well, he had Dean now. "Hey, Cas. Come and meet my brother." Cas looked like a deer trapped in headlines until Jess released Dean and he held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. Cas walked over and stood next to Dean, maintaining a careful distance until Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him in, holding it firmly.

"Sam, Jess, this is Castiel, my... Friend." The adrenaline from the show was still making him brave, so he added; "well, I haven't officially asked him yet, but I'm hoping he might also be my boyfriend." The word felt strange on Dean's tongue, but the surprised and very happy look Cas gave him made up for it. Dean looked at Sam, who looked like his eyes were going to bug out of his skull. Jess also looked surprised, but recovered first.

"It's lovely to meet you, Castiel." She held out her hand, and Cas shook it without letting go of Dean. Jess looked at Sam, then punched him in the side in the same spot that Dean had earlier. Sam's breath whooshed out. Dean's heart sank. Had he made a mistake? Did Sam share his Dad's opinion on sexuality?

Then Sam was enveloping both of them in a crushing hug.

"Why didn't you tell me, jerk? I'm so happy that you've found someone." Sam whispered to Dean, although Cas was standing so close there was no way he had not heard. Sam finally released them both and Dean could breathe again.

"I've only just worked it out, bitch."

"He was a little slow on the uptake." Cas said teasingly, smiling at Dean with stars in his eyes. "Dean, we should really get changed." Cas gripped his hand a little tighter and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Right... Yeah... We should totally, get out of these clothes. I mean..." Dean looked hurriedly at Sam and Jess who were both smirking at him, "we should put our proper clothes back on."

"Are you still eating at ours, Dean? Cas is very welcome too of course." Jess said, while Sam just grinned. Dean looked at Cas who nodded shyly.

"We'll be there." Dean said.

"Right then." Sam clapped his overly large hands together. "We'll leave you two to... Get changed... And we'll meet you at home? Yes. Sounds good. Let's go Jess." Without another word or backward glance, they left hurriedly.

"We'll, that was weird." Dean said, looking after them doubtfully.

"I think they were giving us time to... Change." Cas said, pulling on Dean's arm.

"Oh... Oh!" Dean blushed. "Well, let's go then."

They got into the dressing room, which was lit only by the soft light of the bulbs around the mirrors. Dean had barely shut the door before Cas was crowding him against it. Coming out to his family was seemingly enough to clear up some of Cas' remaining doubts that Dean did want this (and it cleared up the last of Dean's too if he was being honest). Cas rubbed his nose against Dean's, breathing over his lips without touching them. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas' waist and pulled him in until their bodies were flush together.

Cas captured Dean's lips against his own. He was still wearing the mask, and Dean reveled in the strangeness of being kissed by someone when you could not see their full face. He supposed it wasn't that different to kissing a girl wearing way too much make up, and if this therapy crap had taught him anything, it was that everyone was wearing a mask all the time. Suddenly, Cas' tongue was seeking entrance and he pulled even closer, until Dean could not think any more about anything beyond sensation. His eyes flickered closed until he could only feel.

Their kiss heated up, and suddenly their closeness was not enough to for Dean. He needed to feel skin on skin. "Is there a zip somewhere in that costume of yours?" Dean murmured in between kisses. Cas moved away a little and pulled at the sleeves until he was able to wriggle his shoulders out and roll the suit down his body, revealing strong arms and a lean chest. Dean put his hand out and brushed it across Cas' chest, unable to resist. Cas shivered and growled.

"Your turn." He pulled urgently at the bottom of Dean's tunic. Dean lifted it over his head obligingly, dropping it on the floor. Cas grabbed him and pulled him in for another kiss. Their bare chests slid together, and it was so, so different to the feel of breasts against him, it was all muscle and hardness, but it was so hot. Dean tilted his head and sucked one of Cas' nipples into his mouth and nibbled lightly. Cas moaned above him, throwing his head back. Dean did not want the other one to be left out, so he moved his head across and repeated the action with Cas' other nipple. Cas bucked his hips up, and Dean felt the brush of Cas' cock against his for the first time. He froze and looked up at Cas with wide eyes.

"Dean, are you ok? We can stop?" Cas said, voice gravelly and wanton, but still full of worry for Dean.

"Just, give me a second." Dean said, then very slowly and deliberately rolled his own hips up so that his erection slid next to Cas' through the thin fabric of their costumes. Both men moaned loudly.

"Clothes off, now." Dean commanded. Cas was quick to oblige, pulling his suit the rest of the way off and stepping out of it.

“Commando, Cas, really? In front of all those people?”

“Of course, Dean. The suit is so tight; people would have seen the lines of my boxers.”  
Dean nodded - the man had a point, and it meant that Cas got naked quicker, which was good in his eyes. Dean took a second to appraise Cas, admiring his naked form in the way he would admire a beautiful vintage car. Cas was beautiful, not in the way he had applied to women before, but in his own unique way, with the light of the dressing room mirrors casting interesting shadows over his body. Cas had thick thighs and strong calves, narrow hips, and his cock… Dean started to undress as his own cock twitched at the thought of getting closer to Cas’.

Cas stepped closer again and helped Dean out of the last of his clothes. When they were both naked, Dean grabbed Cas’ ass and pulled them close again to crash their mouths together, hot and hard. Their naked skin pressed together, and Cas moved slightly, aligning their cocks.

“Holy fuck,” Dean whimpered, as their naked dicks slid together for the first time. Cas pushed him gently back until Dean’s ass was against the wall, putting a hand against the wall on either side of Dean’s shoulders. Cas bent his head down and started kissing across Dean’s neck and collarbone. He sucked the skin and bit lightly at the same time as he rolled his hips up hard. Dean threw his head back and saw stars. Cas started kissing down Dean's chest, licking across his belly button in a move that should have been weird but sent shivers down Dean's back.

Cas kept moving down and licked across Dean's head, then took it into his mouth. Dean groaned loudly, placing his hand on Cas' head and scrunching it into his hair, pulling slightly. Cas moaned which vibrated through Dean's cock in a cycle of pleasure that nearly made Dean come right then. Cas took Dean more fully into his mouth, and there was a brush of stubble on Dean’s thigh. It reminded Dean that this was not a beautifully breasted creature kneeling before him, but a man with stubble, a smooth chest and a dick of his own. Dean nearly freaked out at the thought of his Dad entering the room and finding him.

Then, Cas looked up and their gaze locked. Dean told himself that this was not just any guy, this was Cas, whom he trusted to the ends of the earth, and his Dad was dead so unlikely to be storming into a room, and that his family - namely Sam and Jess - was happy for him. Dean pulled at Cas’ arm gently, moving him back up so that they could kiss again. Dean tried to put his faith and feelings for Cas into that kiss.

“Everything ok?” Cas murmured against his lips.

“Yeah, I just thought you would need some attention too.” Dean said, and then grinned wickedly as he reached out and took Cas in hand. It was a bit weird, holding onto a dick from the other angle, but it was nothing that Dean could not handle. He started to jerk Cas off, using the tricks he always liked on himself. From the way Cas moaned and breathed against Dean’s neck, they were obviously working.

Cas pushed his hips forward so that they slid together again. He linked his fingers in with Dean’s, and then they were jacking off together, both hands gliding around both dicks. Dean started to thrust into their joint hands, adding to the sensation as he slid next to Cas. They tilted their foreheads together, sharing the same air as they panted.

Heat began to curl in Dean’s base as Cas also thrust into their joined hands. He came on the next downstroke, come splattering onto his belly and Cas’ chest. Cas kept their hands moving while Dean shuddered as the sensation continued on his dick that was quickly becoming oversensitive. Cas came with a long moan. Dean leaned back against the wall, and Cas took a step forward to lean against him, joining their naked chests together again, neither caring about the spreading stickiness.

They stayed like that while they got their breath back and came down from their post-orgasmic high, with Dean fighting the urge to just nap against the wall. It was not long before Cas started to shiver, and Dean remembered they were supposed to be going to Sam and Jess’ for dinner. Cas used his boxers to clean himself and Dean up as much as he could, before he stuffed them in a bag and put his pants on without anything underneath. Dean was not sure how he was supposed to get through dinner with the knowledge that Cas’ cock was only one layer away.

They crept out of the dressing room after they were dressed, but everyone else had gone home. Dean went to head out of the building, but Cas pulled him in another direction. They went down a corridor and through two doors. It was pitch black except for the occasional eerie green glow from a fire exit sign, and Dean could not work where they were going. Cas came to a stop and kissed him briefly.

“I’m just going to find the lights.” He dropped Dean’s hand and walked away. After a few seconds, the lights came on. Cas had led them to the auditorium, and they were standing in the middle of the stage. It looked strange, empty again having contained so many people. Quiet, with no rustle of whispers or wrappers.

“I like to come back after everyone has gone. It never seems quite so scary after the final curtain.” Cas said as he walked back and took Dean’s hand again. Dean nodded.

“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” he said, smiling softly at Cas.

“They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts.” Cas finished, squeezing Dean’s hand. “You have been doing your research.”

“Well, I’ve been waiting for the next book by my favorite author, but I think he’s been a bit distracted.” Dean teased.

Dean looked around at the auditorium, and imagined being able to stand on the stage, holding hands with Cas, in front of an audience. Maybe after another six months of therapy with Charlie, he would be ready for that.  
They left the stage slowly and turned out the lights, leaving only the empty auditorium, waiting for the next performance.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
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